


electricity hitting metal

by Merideath



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Affairs, Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Awkwardness, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Banter, Beards (Facial Hair), Crack, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Innuendo, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Minions, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Multi, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Roswell, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valentine's Day, Zombies, beardy!steve, despicable me, minor James 'Bucky' Barnes/Natasha Romanov, no shave November, slight Maria Hill/Steve Rogers, syfy's tin man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 96
Words: 62,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assortment of ficlets from various tumblr prompts and rabid plotbunnies.</p><p>Chapter: 89: the envelope (Steve/Darcy)<br/>Chapter 90: GBBO (gen)<br/>Chapter 91: unbreakable-ish (Darcy & Pietro)<br/>Chapter 92:what the duff? (Darcy/Johnny)<br/>Chapter 93: the lake district (Darcy/Steve)<br/>Chapter 94: parker (Darcy & Tony)<br/>Chapter 95: the vegetable patch (pre-Darcy/Pietro)<br/>Chapter 96: not the hawkeye you're looking for (Darcy - slight Darcy/Steve)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Retro (Steve & Darcy)

**Author's Note:**

> This little ficlet is one of the first Darcy/Steve fics I wrote after seeing the deleted scene where Steve is looking at old film clips and files. 
> 
> Steve is sad and Darcy is a ball of energy bustling about his apartment.

Retro (ret ro)  
adjective 1. Involving, relating to, or reminiscent of things from the past; retrospective. 

 

Steve sits alone in his small apartment staring blankly at the files on his desk and the dark screen of the SHIELD issued laptop in front of him when there is a knock at the door. He frowns and carefully folds down the laptop as he stands up to answer the door. Nobody visits him here. He doesn’t know anyone but the team and a handful of agents he bothered to remember the names of. “Hello.” He says as he opens the door and is pushed aside by a blur of dark curls, red lips and a blue dress.

“Miss Lewis,” Steve mumbles mildly confused at the whirlwind that is Darcy Lewis as she shoves a covered dish into his hands and makes a beeline for his kitchen. “Er Come in?” He mutters dryly, fumbling to close the still open door with his foot. He knows Darcy lives in his building, knows that she is in training with SHIELD that she works for Coulson. They have talked a few times, once sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, when she wasn’t busy trailing after Coulson or Dr. Foster “What are you doing here Miss Lewis?”

“Do you have any idea how long it takes to do 1940s hair? I was lucky I found this dress in that thrift store two blocks over, you know the one with the scary ass mannequin without eyes? Where’s the Doctor when you need him,” Darcy says blithely ignoring his question and points at her carefully styled hair, hands waving about as she hunts for dishes and cutlery in his tidy kitchen and begins to set his small table. Steve looks up from the warm dish he is awkwardly holding to look Darcy over. Her hair is indeed pinned in perfect curls atop her head in the style he remembers from his time. She swishes over to his stereo system muttering to herself as she pops her iPod into the dock he has never used. “I brought dinner. Beef and ale stew, my grandma’s favourite recipe. Don’t say you aren’t hungry just to be polite. We both know that would be a lie, and this has been cooking for hours. I’m starving.”

Darcy turns around as Glenn Miller plays through his speakers. She is biting her red painted lips, spots of colour high on her cheekbones. Her fingers tangle nervously in the skirt of her blue spotted dress before she turns round quickly heading for his refrigerator. She looks like she stepped out of time, his time, with her glossy curls, red leather heels with straps around the ankles, her soft curves in that blue spotted dress. “Retro,” he whispers to himself, the word is bitter on his tongue. Steve watches the swing of her hips and the flash of her stockings with more interest than he knows he probably should. He isn’t sure how he feels about that. “But why…why are you here? In my apartment,” Steve blurts out as he places the covered dish on his small table. “I’m sorry that was rude. My mother would never forgive me for bad manners.”

“It’s ok Rogers,” Darcy replies as she places a bottle of milk on the table. “I’m here because Son of Coul…Agent Coulson is worried you aren’t doing well. That you are lonely, you isolate yourself and don’t play well with others.... unless it’s on the battlefield. Which is really absurd, when you think about it. I mean being antisocial is practically part of SHIELD’s admissions test.” Darcy rambles as she sits down at the table and gestures to Steve who obediently sits down across from her. “Look we live in the same crappy building. I’m Coulson’s minion and when you aren’t busy saving a world that you don’t know anymore we have shared a cup of coffee in Stark’s overly shiny kitchen. Sometimes I feel lost too. I don’t know how it feels to be thrown around in time but I know about finding yourself in a place you don’t expect yourself to be. I mean who really expects to have gods fall out of the sky and hit them with a car, then taser their drunk asses. That was totally Jane’s fault by the way, the car not the taser, I totally knocked Thor on his ass with Alice. Alice is my taser, was my taser, Coulson confiscated it. 

I survived a giant fire breathing robot destroying the town and then I end up working for a super secret government agency because I know too much,” Darcy huffed. “I thought maybe I could help make things a bit better…more like home,” Darcy falters a bit playing with her cutlery and biting her lip before meeting Steve’s gaze. “Look you’re a nice guy. You open doors and sign Coulson’s cards every time he gets a new one from Ebay and Craigslist. You may have punched Hitler but you have terrible taste in clothing, and excellent taste in sci-fi but I see you looking out the windows with that frown, that pinched look when the sorrow is eating you. I think you need a friend. A friend, that isn’t a superhero or a genius,” Darcy’s eyes dropped again, her small hands tightly grasping the edge of the table as she took a steadying breath. “Besides you manage to look at my face when I talk to you. So shut up and eat your dinner, Ok Cap?”

“Steve. Please just Steve,” he mutters rubbing at the back of his neck and smiling ruefully. He does look her in the eye when they have spoken, but other times, well he is only human no matter what else the serum did to him he is still a man and Darcy’s got curves that his hands ache to draw, ache to do more than that, but he won’t let himself think about that. 

 

“Okay Steve, but you have got to call me Darcy,” Darcy smiles and he’s pretty sure that smile can light up a room. She reaches across the tables and squeezes his hand gently. “So friends?”

Steve nods and can’t help returning her smile as he reached for the lid of the stew. “I think I’d like that Miss….I’d like that a lot Darcy.”

 

Fin.


	2. Café Crème (Steve & Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Steve meet in Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another really fluffy ficlet from a tumblr ask box prompt. 'Darcy and Steve meet in Europe.'

MontMartre, Paris, France

Darcy sat curled up in a slightly uncomfortable cafe chair, letting the steam from her café crème warm her face as the cup warmed her fingers through her red fingerless gloves. One ear bud dangling down, the other secured in her ear playing her “Darcy’s Excellent European Adventure Before Becoming a Lab Rat FOREVER” playlist. So she heard the strangled French being spoken at the table next to her. She glanced sideways to see an altogether sheepish grin on the face on the man at the next table. Darcy bit her lip and tried not to grin, but his French was even more appalling than hers. 

“You tried. You did terribly but you tried. That’s all that matters.”

“You’re American.” The man said blue eyes sweeping over her from her wild brown hair (hey she ran out of conditioner days ago) spilling out under her blue hat, to her battered copy of the Hobbit beside the remains of her pain au chocolate. 

“Yup. Born and raised in San Francisco, California. I’m Darcy.” She replied back with a bright smile, looking him over with the same thoroughness. He had on a leather jacket, a blue hat with a matching scarf, there was a pencil in his hands and a leather sketchbook on the table in front of him. 

“Steve. I’m uh, I'm from Brooklyn.”

“Nice to meet you Steve.” Darcy smiled and sipped her coffee and the chatted about where she had been on her vacation, about the new job in New York she was starting on her return to the states, old movies, terrible science fiction, and The Hobbit. Which Steve said he hadn’t read yet, but a friend had loaded the book on his Starkreader. Darcy wrinkled her nose and picked up her copy of the book. “It’s nice to have the tech. God knows I love my phone but it’s nothing like holding the weight of a book in your hands, feeling the ink as you run your hands across the page, the smell of old paper, Finding old notes, and bookmarks, and pressed flowers among the pages...and I’m talking way too much.” Darcy blushed, thoroughly embarrassed with herself. 

“No, no you’re right. Do you mind if I sketch you?” Steve blurted out and his cheeks flushed with colour. “Sorry.”

“It’s Ok. You can draw me. Are you an artist?”

“I wanted to be a long time ago.” Steve replied concentrating as he drew lines across the paper, brow furrowed in concentration. After several minutes Steve tore the page from his sketch book and handed it to Darcy. The sketch made her look beautiful with her wild hair holding the book up to her chin, lips curving up into a smile. Steve had signed the initials S.R. in the bottom right corner of the sketch.

“I can’t take this Steve, it’s beautiful.” 

“It’s yours, take it. I have to go now. It was lovely to meet you Darcy. Thanks for uh letting me sketch you.” Steve smiled awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and looked over as a large black car pulled up outside the little cafe. Steve gathered his things together, and stood.

“Wait!” Darcy called out, digging a pen from her purse and scribbling in the front of her book. “Here take this.” She smiled shoving the book into his hands. Steve opened the book to the first page underneath the Shakespeare and Company stamp Darcy had written: 

Steve,

Have a wonderful adventure.

Darcy

p.s. here’s my number. Call me when you get back to New York. We’ll get coffee and talk Tolkien.

Steve grinned and slipped the book into his bag alongside his sketchbook. “Thanks Darcy. I promise I will.” He smiled back, eyes crinkling and looked so genuinely happy that Darcy felt warm all over. She was pretty sure she hadn’t felt so warm for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been to Paris a few times, not as often as I like and I love the Shakespeare and Company Bookshop. I have a few secondhand books from there tucked away safe on my bookshelf.
> 
> Also there was an amazing button shop in MontMatre. I wish I had bought more buttons from there. Er I like buttons. *Ahem*


	3. truth or dare (Steve, Darcy, assorted avengers and friends)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy should have known better than to trust Jane with the knowledge of her crush on Captain Rogers. And she really should have known better than to agree to play a game of truth or dare with the girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was inspired by Melifair's graphic of [**Darcy with Cap's Shield**](http://merideathislost.tumblr.com/image/39925932450)

“Your turn, Darcy. Truth or dare?” Pepper grinned taking a delicate sip of her wine.

“Um, I choose...dare,” Darcy replied after downing the rest of her own glass. Darcy ignored the potential doom of her choice when out of the corner of her eye she caught Natasha and Pepper exchanging a look she was helpless to decipher.

“I dare you to… Pose naked with Cap’s shield.”

“What?” Darcy spluttered and turned to glare at Jane. “You told them!”

Jane shook her head no then nodded smiling somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry, Darce, but it’s just too cute that you have a crush on Captain America.”

“God, Jane, way to embarrass your employee Boss-lady. And it’s not Captain America I have a crush on. It’s just Steve. Though the boy does look fine in that suit. Seriously what is with the skin tight superhero garb around here? Not that I’m complaining. Argh...But aren’t they like out on a mission? Saving the world from giant space slugs and exploding cows?” Not that that was a bad thing but the last few weeks had been filled with villains with some really cracked ideas on how to take over the world.

Who really thinks exploding cows are a good thing? Or that douche that tried to turn all the cars in the city into pudding? Seriously, who even likes pistachio pudding anyway?

“If you wish to call it a mission, then yes they were out on a mission. Or rather the boys dragged Stark away from  antagonizing Dr. Richards. Again. They're in the penthouse now. The Captain's shield will be in the locker room.”

“I don’t have clearance for that level.”

“If I had to do the Macarena in front of the baby agents and Natasha had to give that poor lab squint a lap dance then you can do this,” Jane grinned then started to giggle into her glass.

“Oh my God, poor Peter. I really think you broke him, Natasha,” Darcy said taking a sip from her glass. 

“I have clearance,” Natasha arched an overly expressive brow. Her mouth curing in the subtlest of smiles as she gracefully unfolded herself to stand.

Darcy bit her lip but nodded at Pepper, Natasha and Jane. “Fine. I accept the dare but you can’t tell Steve,”

She wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this. She really wasn’t sure how they ended up playing truth or dare as it was. Although she knew Natasha from training and her visits to the labs to talk to jane and Bruce she didn’t very often interact with Miss Potts at all. It was more than a little bit intimidating despite how nice Pepper was once her pretty shoes were kicked off and she left the corporate goddess behind.

 

"Let's do this," Darcy said. She stood up, squaring her shoulders to do battle, or pose naked with her very best good friend’s shield.

“Pics or it didn’t happen!” Jane giggled. Darcy glowered and  flipped her off over her shoulder.

………………………….

The team locker-room looked like the one in the gym. Though decidedly more weapons strewn about with pieces of various uniforms and towels. Darcy wrinkled her nose at the smell of sweat, blood and what she was sure but have been a gallon of cologne. She was so busy looking around she startled when Natasha held out Captain America’s shield. “Oh.” Darcy exclaimed “Right.”

Natasha smirked and withdrew her phone from a hidden pocket while Darcy quickly undressed, cheeks tinged pink as she grasped the shield from Natasha and awkwardly held it in front of her. Darcy took a calming breath and tried not to think about how embarrassed Steve would be if he only knew.

Not that she didn’t think the chorus girls hadn’t shown him worse back when he was first all spangled up. What with it being war time and all that. Really what was that General thinking? But Steve wasn’t one to kiss and tell at least not to her. He had never looked at her with anything more than friendships in his eyes in the months they had been friends.

Really she was okay with just being his friend. Being around Steve always made Darcy feel safe and at home in this crazy world of alien gods, superheroes and secret agents.  Hanging around Steve and Bucky was a revelation. She was never going to be able to watch some movies again.

With a shrug of her bare shoulders she decided to go with the flow, moved herself behind Captain America’s shield. The metal was cold against her bare skin and she shivered slightly. Finally settled she looked up,  grinned, and saucily saluted Natasha.  

Ten minutes later they were back in the room and Darcy had a fresh drink in her hand. .

....................................................

Meanwhile......

 “Tony, you can’t keep antagonizing Dr Richards like that. Fury’s gonna be pissed and we don't need any more paperwork,"Steve frowned as he loaded his plate with another slice of pizza.

“He’s got the jaw again, Barnes, the disapproving eyes. Make him stop before he ruins games night."

"The hell do you expect me to do?" Bucky asked.

"You're his sidekick. Go do something sidekick-y. Oh wait sidekicks don’t do anything but say ‘gosh golly gee whiz’ and wring their hands,” Tony mocked as he played with the Starkpad beside with greasy fingers.

“Fuck you, Stark,” Bucky grunted and took another swig of his beer. "Why are we even here, Rogers."

"The sparkling conversation," Steve said dryly  and took another bite of pizza.  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He was half wondering if it was a text from Darcy complaining about the ‘Girls Night’ Dr. Foster had dragged her into but the text was from Natasha. Steve's brow creased as worry shot through him.

Natasha had never bothered to text him before unless there was a call to assemble. He swiped his thumb across the screen and opened the text.

Natasha: Your girl, Cap.  
Image attached.

 

Steve frowned and tapped on the image icon to open it. Darcy Lewis with nothing on but his shield and a smile. Colour crawled up his face, ears burning red as he silently gawped at the picture.

_Oh...fuck._

“Hey are you gonna....” Bucky began till he caught sight of what was on Steve’s phone that had stupefied his friend. “Holy shit, Steve. I told you. I fucking told you the spitfire had a thing for you.” Bucky grinned as he plucked the phone from Steve’s lax grip.

“I told you she wanted to fondue you as much as you want to fondue her,” Bucky grinned leaping up from the table and out of Steve grasp as he reached to get his phone back.

“You ever gonna let that drop, jerk?”

"Nope," Bucky grinned and tossed the phone over his shoulder without looking. 

“Wait wait. What’s going on. Who’s spitfire?” Tony demanded.

“Damn, Cap,” Clint whistled from his perch on the back of one of the overly plush sofas. He cradled Steve’s phone in his hand and when Steve lunged for it Clint rolled backwards off the couch and tossed the phone to Tony. “So that’s what’s under Lewis’ fugly sweaters.”

“Is that the lab squint with the big....” Tony said as he held his hands out over his chest. Steve snarled as Bucky blocked his path until he knocked Bucky off his feet and vaulted over the sofa. “Eyes... the big, beautiful, bouncing.... blue eyes.” Stark finished tossing the phone to Steve and raising his hands.

“Fuck you! All of you,” Steve snarled and marched from the room ignoring the sound of his team's laughter. He raked a hand through his hair and slid the his thumb across the lock screen of his phone. he opened up the picture Natasha sent. “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have notes for more. :oP


	4. Artwork (Steve & Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds a mess of art supplies in his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little drabble fic from an ask box prompt of "Darcy/Steve artwork".

When not training or fighting, Steve liked to spend his afternoons in the common room, of the newly refurbished Avengers Tower. He even had a favourite chair tucked away in a corner beside a window with a small table he could rest his pencils and charcoal in. It was always neat and tidy, but not today. On the table lay a messy assortment of art supplies. None of them were his.

A pouch spilling out a handful of brightly coloured pens and pencils, small plastic palate on the table, a blue cup filled with murky water and drips of old paint dried around the rim. Steve frowned and looked down at the seat of his favourite chair and picked up a leather bound journal. The journal was open to a page covered in swirls of blue paint, white stars, and a faceless portrait with thick outlines of black pen. There were words drawn along the figure’s tangle of hair before he could make out the slanted handwriting he turned at the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Oh. I’m sorry Jane said I could be in here. I didn’t mean to take over. I’m Darcy, Dr. Foster’s assistant,” says the girl, nervously eye the open book in his hands, as the tugs at the sleeve of her red sweater and scrapes her teeth against her bottom lip.

“Steve. It’s a pleasure to meet you Darcy. This is yours? Your artwork? May I look?” Steve smiles looked from the girl’s bright blue eyes hidden behind thick framed glasses down to the open book.

“It’s my art journal,” Darcy replies with a nod and rocks back and forth on her heels.

“Art journal?” Steve arches a brow up, fingertips brushing against a line of swirling paint on the thick rough edged paper of the journal.

“Um it’s sort of like a journal for creative people. You express your thoughts, feelings, dreams and emotions through different mediums. It’s not something that everyone gets, but I’m visual. I always liked art, I studied it in collage before my parents said I had to choose a different career path.”

“It’s beautiful,” Steve murmurs as he carefully turns the pages. He glances back up and Darcy is blushing, pulling her hair in front of her face, and looking down at the toes of her purple Converse. 

“Thank you, I was going to clean up and make some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Yes, please ma’am,” Steve murmurs lost in the bold colours and swirling lines of Darcy’s art.


	5. He wears a mask, his clothes are weird (Darcy/Steve, & Jane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy makes breakfast for a stressed out Jane.
> 
>  
> 
> 'He wears a mask, his clothes are weird (and some folks call him hokie')- Captain America by Jimmy Buffett

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ask box prompt fic. The prompt was "the song Captain America by Jimmy Buffett"

He wears a mask his clothes are weird and some folks call him hokie- Captain America by Jimmy Buffett

The lab was utterly quiet, that was such a bad sign. Darcy slipped into the lab, eyes scanning the room as she stepped around a fallen chair and hopping over a tower of empty coke cans and scattered balls of paper. “Jane?” She called out spotting the diminutive scientist hunched over her desk.

“The coffee machine is broken, the pop tart box is empty and I can’t find my pen,” Jane half sobs, wringing her hands together, as her eyes scan the notepad in front of her.

 _Oh okay_ , Darcy thinks. “Did you get any sleep at all while I was visiting my folks? Where is your shiny new lab minion? It’s time all little scientists go sleepy byes,” Darcy wraps an arm around Jane’s thin shoulders. It’s never a good thing to let Super Brain Jane wander around for too long unsupervised.

“I am not a child Darcy!” Jane exclaims wrenching out of Darcy’s grip and writing down another equation on the notepad with a purple crayon.

“Uh Jane you are using a crayon, and whining. I’m pretty sure it’s nap time,” Darcy snarks, and begins pulling pens and pencils out of the messy bun at the back of Jane’s head.

“You found my pen!” Jane exclaims jumping up and hugging Darcy in a surprisingly strong grip. Jane is suddenly trembling and sobbing in her arms. Darcy sighs, patting Jane on the back. Jane may be one of the big brains but she had no sense of self preservation. 

“Come on lets go feed you a snack and put you down for nap time like a good little astrophysicist. Can you be a good little scientist for me Janey?” Darcy murmurs and Jane huffs in her arms but untangles herself. 

Darcy drags Jane out of the lab and up to the Avengers communal kitchen. It’s not often Darcy goes up to the Avengers apartment level, only when she is bossing Jane around, and the one time at Christmas when the oven in her semi squalid apartment broke and she made cookies, though most of them got eaten by superheroes with high metabolisms before she could distribute them to the other lab minions. She sat Jane at the breakfast bar and gave her an apple while she set to work getting eggs and bacon out of the fridge and an overly shiny frying pan out of the cupboard. “Omelette?”

“Pancakes.” Jane mumbles through a mouth full of apple, and Darcy grits her teeth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full Jane. Bad manners, no cookie!” Darcy bites her lip but can’t help but grin when Jane crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out at her. Darcy lights the burner under the pan and sets the bacon to fry. “Hey Jarvis can you play my ‘Jane needs a break before she turns into a Big Bad and we all become sofas mix’ please.”

“Certainly, Miss Lewis.”

“Aces, Jarvis! You’re the best.” Darcy beams, as she pulls out flour, and roots around in the fridge for maple syrup and a bowl full of blueberries. “Score,” she cheers to herself as Barenaked Ladies ‘One Week’ starts playing and Jane snorts. They both end up singing along though, as Darcy turns the bacon and stirs up a big batch of pancake mix. This is what Darcy loves, she may never admit it but these times making breakfast with Jane are part of what makes her job great. The added benefit of getting to see hot superheroes in tight fitting uniforms all the time is just the icing on the cake. 

By the time Darcy has set a plate of bacon and pancakes and a glass of orange juice in front of Jane, the mix has switched over a to play ‘Captain America’ by Jimmy Buffett. Darcy sings along as she cleans up the counter, swishing her hips and making overly dramatic hand gestures that make Jane choke on her juice. 

Darcy grins using a clean wooden spoon as a microphone, “He wears a mask his clothes are weird and some folks call him hokie-“, someone clears their throat behind her and Darcy slowly pivots as Jane giggles uncontrollably. There leaning against the wall is Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, lips quirking up in amusement. Darcy eeps and drops her spoon and Steve arches a brow. “Kill me now,” she mutters blushing madly. 

“I’ve not heard this one,” Steve grins cocking his head to the side, as he looked her over, and Darcy feels butterflies manically dancing about in her belly. It should be illegal for Steve Rogers to smile like that.

“It’s um Jimmy Buffett, It’s a playlist for when Jane needs to be human for a little while, it was from before we came here. Oh Thor, please just I’m... Oh god I’m sorry. Would you uh like some pancakes?” Darcy rushes before she can stop herself, she’s pretty sure her cheeks must be the same colour as her crimson lipstick. She turns back to the stove before her traitorous tongue can say anything else. Like how pretty his eyes are, and ask if he would kiss her.

“What?” 

“What What?” Darcy looks up at Steve eyes wide; she can hear Jane snort behind her. “I said that out loud didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, his cheeks are a little pink and his eyes drop down to her lips for the barest of moments before he clears his throat, “Pancakes?”

“Yeah pancakes,” Darcy murmurs lost in the hurricane of butterflies warming her belly, “Oh yeah that’s me. Riiight.”


	6. Valentine's Day (Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Valentine's Day fluff. Seriously, It's probably more like a whole jar of marshmallow fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff written for one of nessismore's many prompts in my tumblr ask Box. 
> 
> Many many thanks go to katertot's for being my person and my beta and telling me when my plotbunnies are being evil.

"Looking sharp there, Rogers. How's the leg?" Darcy asks as she leans against the wall he has been propping himself up against most of the night. She wearing a vibrant blue gown with a deep v-neck that makes his heart speed up when his gaze wanders lower then it probably should. 

He's a superhero not a saint.

"It's a caffeine molecule."

"What?" Steve startles, gaze snapping back up to Darcy's face. She is biting her lower lip, smearing her bright red lipstick, and her blue eyes are sparking with mischief. 

"My necklace. It's a caffeine molecule," she says lifting the chain around her neck. The silver pendant dangles between her fingers and Steve reaches out to run a finger over the lines. Darcy breath catches when his fingers brush against hers. 

"It's very pretty." 

"It's awesome is what it is. Jane remembered my birthday....well JARVIS probably remembered for her," she says with a shrug. "So the leg?" The side of her silver heel against his cane. 

He doesn't really need the cane. The bones have knit back together and the cast is off, but it's an easy excuse to keep him off the dance floor.

"It's fine," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck and looking out over the crowd. Miss Potts is laughing with Tony off to the right, and Thor is spinning Dr. Foster in a circle near the centre of the room. "Shouldn't you be off dancing?" he says, and regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. He likes Darcy; she's sweet, always bringing treats on movie nights, patiently explaining pop culture references and going toe to toe with agents and Tony Stark. It doesn't hurt that she's easy on the eyes. 

"Pfft nah. I'm only here because of Jane, and you know the free food and drink. Plus I suck at dancing, I'd just embarrass myself."

"Me too," Steve says mouth ticking up in a slow grin. The music changes over to something slower and Steve considers saying the hell with it and asking Darcy to dance with him anyway.

"Oh shit," she whispers, grabbing onto the arm of his dark suit.

"What?" Steve says pushing up from the wall and scanning the dance floor.

"Don't look," Darcy hisses reaching up to grab his red tie. "You're single right? Tony said you broke up with Britney? Bella? Betsy?"

"Beth," Steve supplies, eyebrows creeping towards his hairline.

"Right. Please just kiss me before Storm gets over here. He's an asshole and Coulson confiscated my brand new pen taser and made me promise not to cause trouble. So unfair," Darcy huffs, tapping her foot. Steve glances to the left, an eye roving over the crowd until he spots Johnny Storm headed their way. He doesn't particularly dislike the kid, but he could stand to learn some manners. "I'll buy you those pastries you like. The little ones with the different creme fillings." She blinks sad eyes up at him and his gaze drops from her eyes to her red lips. "A whole box."

"Okay," Steve replies, startling himself. It's awkward for a moment, Darcy leaning up into him as he holds his hands out helplessly before they wrap around her small waist of their own accord. "You sure about this?" He whispers when their mouths are less than an inch apart.

"Make it look good, Rogers," Darcy orders imperiously. Her hands slide around his neck, nails scratching his neck above his starched collar of his shirt, the clean citrus scene of her perfume fills his lungs and a shiver runs down his spine. Steve closes the gap between them, Darcy's mouth presses against his and he can't think beyond the taste of her lipstick, the champagne on her tongue as it darts into his mouth. 

Steve pulls her closer, sliding his hands around her back. He can feel bare skin against his palms at the same time he chases her tongue back into her mouth. He slides his left hand down, grabbing her ass and pulling her up tight against his body. She makes a funny little sound of protest and tugs at his hair in retaliation. He forgets about the party, Johnny Storm, and the cane leaning against the wall and loses himself in the kiss. His head is spinning when he pulls back from the kiss, Darcy whines, and tugs on his hair again. "Good enough?" he grins down at her.

"Mmmm.... yeah," Darcy replies, blinking owlishly up at him and slips back down on her heels. Her eyes are dark and her cheeks are as red as his feel. She looks utterly beautiful, with her lipstick smeared around her mouth lips kiss-swollen and Steve ducks down kissing her again quickly. A gentle brush of his mouth against hers. He wonders if her knees are as wobbly as his. "Good, great, best. I owe you a dozen boxes of pastries," Darcy babbles as her arms slide free of his neck and he remembers that his hand is still cupping her ass. 

"Why don't we go together," he asks and swallows hard, watching as her brow furrows as she ponders his question.

"Together?"

"Together," he nods. He lifts his hand to cradle her cheek and rubs his thumb over a smear of lipstick under her lip.

"Like a date?"

"Like a date," Steve replies solemnly. He can't remember ever seeing Darcy look as flustered and out of her depth as she does at this moment. She's always so vibrant and put together and he isn't sure if he should like it as much as he does. The music changes against to something faster paced and Steve ignores the sound of his name being called across the dance floor.

"With me?"

"I don't see anyone else I've been kissin'," Steve smirks.

"Smartass," Darcy rolls her eyes and nudges his foot with the toe of her silver heel. "Will you be kissing me again?"

Steve belly flips at the question and he grins wide and bright, "Depends on if you buy me that box of pastries you promised."

"If you buy the coffee," Darcy says rolling up on her toes and back down again.

"It's a date," he says.


	7. cowls and chocolate cake (Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy bakes chocolate cake.
> 
> Steve returns from a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anonymous prompt on tumblr Darcy/Steve "the team walks in".

“Damn,” Darcy swore in exasperation as a dollop of icing splattered on the floor of Steve’s kitchen in the Avengers tower. She was pushing it, being there, but she'd heard enough from Jane about the mission they were returning from. It had been bad and Steve tended to brood and blame himself.

It’s not that she would get in trouble for being there, far from it. Their friendship had taken a turn towards more, a whole lot more,and neither of them were ready to share their new found couplehood with anyone. Especially not on Stark’s turf so to speak. They were still trying to figure out becoming a couple, and the whole sneaking around thing was really kinda hot. 

Darcy was worried though, and even if she wasn't supposed to know the specifics of the mission she could still do something to make things better. Her grandmother always said 'cake makes everything better', so she let herself into Steve’s suite and spent the last two hours baking a chocolate cake. She swiped up a dollop of chocolate frosting off the counter with her bare fingers and eyed the cake. “Perfect,” she declared with a nod.

She checked the time on her phone and quickly shoved the bowl and spatula in the dishwasher and switched it on. Darcy grabbed the little notebook and pencil on the counter and started writing a note. He loved little things like that. Letters and notes and small gifts. _'Steve, Thought a bit of cake might make things better. See you tomorrow night, if the world doesn't need saving...again.'_ She signed her name with a flourish of hearts and stars.  Two arms wrapped around her waist from behind and Darcy. 

“Darcy,” Steve murmured smugly. He nuzzled her neck and she relaxed into him. "Missed you."

“Missed you too, but I have to go. Jane’s waiting and we don’t want to get caught doing...unfriendly things. Or too friendly things?”  

"Unfriendly things?"

“Hey, watch the sass, buddy," Darcy said turning in his arms. "You’re still in uniform!” she exclaimed, he was covered in dirty smudges a tear in the shoulder of the uniform and another on his left side. Steve’s mouth lowered to hers and Darcy gave up talking or being sensible, and just wrapped her arms around his neck and went along for the ride. Steve’s gloved hands slid down her back and cupped her ass lifting her up onto the end of the counter.

“Don’t go,” he murmured as he trailed kisses along her jaw to nibble at her ear. “Want you.” His gloved hands  slid up from her ass underneath her orange sweater. The feel of the leather on her skin sent shivers skating down her spine. “Take this off.”

  
Darcy leaned back, flashed a brilliant grin grabbed the hem of her sweater. She  pulled the sweater off and let it fall from her fingertips to the floor.

"Mmm, better."

“In the uniform?” she asked, eyebrows raised. Steve bite his lip, she couldn’t tell if he was blushing or flushed from kissing her. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with barely a ring of blue showing. 

“Yeah,” Steve rasped and pulled her closer. 

_Oh, wow._

Darcy leaned into to kiss him, nipped at his bottom lip and licked into his mouth. Steve groaned and Darcy dropped her hands to his belt. She undid the buckle and the utility belt fell to the floor with a dull thud. “You want me on the counter or on my knees Captain?” she smirked, cheeks pink as she trailed her fingers over the top of his uniform pants.

This was new, they hadn’t played games before, not like this. She’d be lying if she said it hadn’t been a fantasy, she just never thought it would be his too. She pulled apart the velcro and slid her hand into his pants. She curled her fingers around him and Steve breath stuttered.

“Darce,” Steve moaned as her hand slid along his length. He circled his hand around her wrist stopping the movement. Darcy gave squeezed him and Steve's hips jerked forward. “Darce, I want-“

“Hey Cap you ran out of the....holy shit is that Lewis? Foster’s lab monkey?” Stark exclaimed from the opened doorway. Steve and Darcy looked at each other in horror, and Steve tugged her hand out of his tights but didn’t turn around, just pressed himself closer to her, one hand on her hip the other gripping the counter so tight Darcy heard it crack.

He was still hard, pressed between her thighs. Darcy breathed out slowly, hands grasping at Steve’s shoulders, nails scraping against the torn material. She was pretty sure her entire face was the colour of red on Steve’s shield, as the rest of the Avengers filled the doorway.

“Go away, Stark,” Steve gritted out. Darcy dropped her forehead to Steve’s shoulder, burying her face in the dusty blue of his suit.

“Captain, is the Lady Darcy your beloved?" Thor asked.

"I, uh, yes," Steve said.

"Later we must celebrate this felicitous occasion,” Thor beamed.

"Yeah, later," Steve said dryly. Darcy caught her lip between her teeth and kept her eyes focused on the fabric of Steve's uniform. It was a very pretty shade of blue.

“Not to stop you from your kinky costume sex, but you didn’t let the doctors look at your injuries.” Stark continued with a wave of his hand.

“You’re hurt?” Darcy said lifting her head and running her hands along the front of Steve’s uniform.

“I’m fine. My back is bruised and my ribs are probably cracked. It'll heal up in a few hours,” Steve replied, then switched to his Captain’s voice of authority to add 'Everyone out now.'

“I really don’t think our Captain is that badly hurt,” drawled Clint; as he leaned against the open door and fiddled with the arrow in his hands.

“So the Captain and the Ingénue,” Stark clapped his hands together and sat down on the arm of Steve’s blue sofa, “How long has this been going on under our noses? Hmm, do tell?"

"Please Leave."

"Oh, is that chocolate cake?”

“Fuck off, Stark! All of you out,” Steve barked, his body vibrating with anger. Darcy started shaking with laughter, pressing her mouth hard on Steve's shoulder. "Now." 

“Christ you get cranky when you've got blue balls, Cap.” Stark sniffed, as the Avengers shuffled out the door.

"Oh my god," Darcy  said.

"M'sorry, sweetheart" Steve grimaced sliding his hands up her back. He pressed a kiss into her hair while Darcy's laughter subsided. "I didn't want them to find out this way."

"It's fine. We're fine," Darcy said, pressing a kiss the the tight line of Steve's jaw. "You can totally make it up to me."

"That I can do."

He kissed her hard on the mouth, and slid his hands down to her ass. Lifted her off the counter and carried her into his bedroom, kicking the door closed as he went.


	8. stupid and dangerous (Steve/Darcy/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was stupid and dangerous.” Darcy snapped hands on her hips.
> 
> “I did the most dangerous thing I could when I said I love you. And it was worth it.” Bucky said eyes solemn as he held out a bouquet of yellow daffodils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is all katertots fault. she gave me the quote “I did the most dangerous thing I could when I said I love you. And it was worth it.” and apparently I'm just not the most romantic of souls so I wrote this which ended up being OT3. Ooops?

“That was stupid and dangerous.” Darcy snapped hands on her hips.

“I did the most dangerous thing I could when I said I love you. And it was worth it,” Bucky said eyes solemn as he held out a bouquet of yellow daffodils. Darcy narrowed her eyes, and crossed her arms under her breasts. Bucky’s gaze dropped to her cleavage and darted back up to her face.

Asshole.

“You think you’re cute, Barnes?”

“I’m fucking adorable,” Bucky grinned. Steve snorted from somewhere behind her.

“You're an ass, Bucky,” Darcy said. She cocked her head to the side, pulled a slim metal cylinder from the pocket of her white dress, pointed it at Bucky. Darcy pressed the tiny button on the side of the cylinder. A bolt of stored electrical charge burst out of the device and slammed into Bucky’s chest, sending him stumbling back a step. Darcy learned her lesson months ago when she first slapped Steve and ended up with a brace on her wrist for a week. The voltage was set low enough not to do any damage but she was sure it got her point across.

“Christ, Darcy. What that fuck?” Bucky grumbled rubbing his chest with his robotic arm.

“Darce,” Steve said. He stepped up beside her, kissed her cheek, and slid his hand down her back to palm her ass. shivers jolted down her spine.

“You’re a cruel woman, dollface. What the fuck is that thing?"

“Her name is Penelope. She's one of Stark’s prototypes for a miniature Tesla series taser,” Darcy said. She slid Penelope back in her dress pocket.

"You've been hanging around Natalia too much while we've been away."

Steve laughed and bent down to kiss her hard on the mouth. His tongue slipped between her lips to slide against hers. He tasted like apples, and the old fashioned caramel candies he pretended he didn’t like.

Darcy moaned and Steve chuckled darkly as he pulled away then lifted Darcy up and swung her over his shoulder. “Hey!” Darcy protested, smacking Steve ass and wiggling in his arms. Steve just laughed again and slid his hand up the back of her thigh and under her skirt as he carried her down the hall to the bedroom.

“Hey, what about me, Darcy?” Bucky called after them.  He followed after her and Steve down the hall into their bedroom. Steve tossed her on the bed and Darcy laughed.

“You can sit this round out, Bucky,” Steve smirked and stripped off his shirt.

“If you promise to be a good boy..."

"I promise."

"Liar," Steve said.

"Go to hell, Steve," Bucky snarled."

"See what I mean?"

"Fuck you, Steve."

"What if I promise to be good, dollface?"

"Then you can...watch,” Darcy grinned. Steve crawled up the bed and curled his hand around Darcy's ankle.

“So cruel,” Bucky pouted and threw himself into the old blue chair that lived in the corner of the room. 

“Yes, yes we are,” Steve grinned over his shoulder. 


	9. bookshop (Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy works in a little second hand bookshop. When a copy of The Time Machine with an authentic sketch by Steve Rogers, dated 1940, arrives in the shop she knows just who to call. 
> 
> But it's not Coulson who comes to collect the book. He sends someone else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr ask pox prompt that was meant to be five sentences but meh.. I had this bunny in my head for the bookshop for awhile now I just never wrote it till I was prompted with 'bookshop'

“For after the Battle comes quiet.” -H.G. Wells the Time Machine

 

Darcy’s been working in her aunt’s creaky atiquarian book shop for awhile now. It’s quiet, and warm and it pays. She spends most of her days reading and making coffee in the intricate little espresso machine.

Today is different, though. Today she is practically giddy and may have danced between the aisles of books, with only Ulysses, the book store's resident cat as witness. A copy of H.G. Wells the Time Machine was delivered in a box of books donated to the store. Inside the book is a pencil and ink sketch of the time machine and a curvy and flirtatious Weena. The sketch is signed with a simple S.R. Darcy's worked with the books kept in the locked cabinet long enough to recognise the signature. Only this one isn't in a time worn autograph book (they sold that one six months ago and a first edition comic a few short weeks ago). No this book, this book in excellent condition was signed by Steve Rogers. Captain America himself, dated Christmas, 1940. 

She takes a few pictures on her iPhone and calls the number on a small white card, kept safe beside the vintage rotary telephone her aunt Abigail refused  to update, 'It's vintage, darlin'.

Agent Coulson answers on the third ring, "Coulson."

"Son of Coul."

"Miss Lewis, how much is this going to cost me?"

Darcy grins and twines her fingers in the telephone cord, "Only what you can afford working for a super secret government agency."

Coulson sighs down the line. "What have you found."

"Get this, a copy of the Time Machine by H.G. Wells signed by Captain America, dated 1940. I'm sending you a picture now," she says, lifting her iphone to picture. "Sent."

"I'll send someone over."

 

Darcy spends the next hour sipping coffee, a triple shot mocha, and singing along to her ipod. Ulysses the cat is unimpressed with her singing.

....

“Pardon me, miss,” rumbles a low voice. Darcy startles, and drops her ipod on the counter with a clatter.

“Sheesh, don’t scare people like that!” she says as she takes her earbuds out, and looks up, and up at at a very handsome man in a brown leather jacket.

"Sorry, miss," he says. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a smug grin. It's far too attractive. 

“So, what can I help you with?”

“You have a book on hold for Phil Coulson.”

“Maybe I do. How can I be sure you know Son of Coul?” Darcy asks arching a dark brow.

“Um, he likes Captain America,” the guy says, faltering a little at the statement.

"Lots of people like Captain America before and after the whole aliens attacking the city. Nice try, no cookie."

The man sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He was all sorts of adorable. If you liked tall, blonde and wearing a leather jacket. She did.

“He said I was to ask how your ipod is after New Mexico?”

“Okay, so maybe you do know Son of Coul,” Darcy nods and reaches under the counter and pops the book on the counter. “I’m Darcy.”

“Steve,” he says and holds out his hand to shake. His hand is warm and calloused and a butterfly, or two dozen, flutters in her belly.

“Like Captain America?” Darcy asks, a crooked grin curving across her lips. She pulls her hand back reluctant and pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose for something to do.

“Yeah, something like that,” Steve replies with a shrug. He scratches his eyebrow, blue eyes darting away from her to  the shelf of books behind Darcy's head and then down to the book laying on the counter between them.

“Go on open it. You don’t need an invitation,” Darcy says and impatiently opens the book. “It says _‘Merry Christmas, Jerk. S.R.’_ Coulson goes nuts for Cap stuff. It’s authentic; we had a signed comic a few weeks ago, I don't know who 'jerk' is meant to be but its all sorts of awesome that Captain America wasn't so much of a priss before he was Captain America.”

Steve doesn’t reply, just looks down at the book like he’s seen a ghost. There's a pinched line between his brows and his jaw is clenched up tight.

“Hey are you okay?” she asks.

She reaches out and gently curls her hand over Steve’s.  He startles, but doesn’t pull his hand away.

"I..." he says, voice trailing off.

“Can I, uh, get you some coffee? We're a cafe too. Just nobody comes here till the late afternoon on Tuesdays, or any day, we mostly sell stuff on ebay, um. coffee? The coffee's really good. I know because I make it.” _God, she sounds like an idiot_.

“Yeah, yes that’d be swell,” Steve says with a nod. His eyes are still on the open book.  There is sorrow there but also something else. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and almost reaches his eyes.


	10. hat (Steve/Darcy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ask box prompt 'Longing, red, hat'.

Steve sat hunched over his sketchbook, pencil pressed lightly to the paper, filling the page with the scene before him.

Darcy sitting curled in the chair beside the window, ridiculous orange and yellow hat on her head, orange fingerless gloves on her hands as she held a steaming cup of cocoa, and the cord of her iPod dangling down into her lap. She was beautiful.  Her long dark hair curled over her shoulders. He longed to tangle his hands in it.

She scooped up the iPod from her lap, dragged her thumb across the screen. Her blue eyes sparkling and a smile stretching across her lips that made his insides twist and his heart beat just that little bit faster.

Steve shook his head to clear his thoughts. Darcy was staring straight back at him, head cocked to the side and white teeth scraping against her red painted lip. he ducked his head, and cursed under his breath. He watched from the corner of his eye as Darcy unfolded herself from her chair, stretched and headed towards him. _Oh._

She didn’t stop though, didn’t say a word. Her hand dropped warm on his bare arm swept up to his shoulder. Then she was gone. Leaving behind the warmth of her touch and the lingering scent of peppermint and chocolate.


	11. sightseeing (Darcy/Bucky)

“You know you didn’t have to come with me. I’m like totally an agent now. Sort of anyway,” Darcy said as she swirled the watery dregs of her iced latte around, taking a small sip,  and wrinkling her nose. She had level five clearance. Which mean she had the minimal amount of weapons training needed to work in the labs and play on SHIELD's computer systems. 

“Thought I’d keep you out of trouble and see the sights, doll,” Bucky smirked, and flicked his eyes over her.

“Dude, it’s my grandpa’s farm in rural Idaho. All you are going to see is the flag on the pole in front of the house, and Bertha the milk cow,” Darcy snarked, though secretly she was pleased that Bucky was there, she hated driving alone, and though he had his bad days he was fun to hang out with at the tower, “Oh look a coffee shack!”

“You asking me to buy you a drink?” Bucky grinned but made the turn.

“Oh please. You didn’t even try with that one. coffee now!” She rolled her eyes and made grabby hands towards the little hut.

“What if I did?” Bucky asked, a sly grin as he pulled to a stop at the hut's window.

"Did what?"

"Try."

Darcy blinked slowly and pursed her lips. "I...Really?"

"Yeah."

"Really, really?"

"I take it back, Lewis."

"No, wait," Darcy said reaching out to grab Bucky's arm. 

“Hi, folks, what can I get for you?” trilled the girl in the window, a bright smile on her face.

"A regular coffee with cream and an iced latte, one pump vanilla," Darcy said to the girl.

"Okey dokey, coming right up," the girl said.

"You really mean that?" Darcy asked, giving Bucky's flesh and blood arm a squeeze.  

"Yeah," he replied, mouth turning up in a filthy grin. 

Darcy shivered. "Okay, you can try."

"Gee, thanks," Bucky said. He flexed the muscles in his arm beneath her fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Idaho, I have family there. So so many coffee shacks. And I think Darcy would take Bucky to the Oasis Bordello Museum in Wallace. It's the town in the film Dante's Peak.


	12. video games (Steve/Darcy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another three word prompt. 'video games, anniversary, kiss'

"Come on, Captain, I'm totally gonna kick your ass at Mario Cart," Darcy said with a slightly evil grin.

"You know I don't need a babysitter, Miss Lewis. I'm not going to wreck anything. I'm not one of your charges," Steve said, eyes wide and innocent.  He tossed an apple from one hand to the other, eyebrows raised as he watched Darcy bounce on her heels. 

"Dude, I'm so not buying that bridge. I saw the footage from last week. That Doom Bot didn't send itself flying back into that senator's car, Rogers."

"That was an accident."

"Bullshit. Besides Son of Coul and Clint are out on their anniversary date. I'm bored, so we are going to play Mario Kart and I'm gonna win."

"That how it's gonna be?"

" Then you're gonna buy me ice cream," she grinned and grabbed the apple out of Steve's hand and took a bite before tossing it back and sashaying out of the room. "I’m gonna kick your star spangled ass, Rogers,"

"Not a chance Lewis," Steve said. He followed her into the living room biting of the apple and decidedly not thinking about the sway of her hips or that he could taste a hint of her cherry lip-gloss on the apple skin.

Darcy perched on the sofa holding out a controller for him. A mischievous grin on her face, the same one that often spelled trouble for whoever crossed her path. Steve took the controller and threw his apple core in the bin across the room. "Alright, let's play."

"Show off," Darcy rolled her eyes.

They were almost evenly matched as they played. Steve found himself laughing at Darcy's ridiculous trash talk despite himself.

 

On the last lap Steve sent out his last blue shell, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk. 

"Jerk, you blue shelled me."

"What do I get when I win, Lewis?" he asked, keeping his eye on the game as his Yoshi passed Darcy's Princess Peach.

Darcy grabbed his chin, and jerked his head towards her. Full soft lips pressed against his mouth, the tip of her tongue swiped along his bottom lip. His eyes fluttered shut, the controller held lose in his hands. He opened his mouth  and then she was gone. 

Steve blinked slowly. "Darce?"

Darcy was focused on the game cheeks flushed, and bottom lip tucked between her teeth as Princess Peach crossed the finish line.  "Suck it, Rogers!" she said hopping to her feet. She held out her hand "Pay up."

"Cheater," Steve said, as he stood up.

 

"Alls fair in love and Mario Kart."

On impulse took her hand and laced their fingers together, rubbed his thumb back and forth over smooth skin. "Can't say I don't pay up on my bets, Darcy." Steve leaned down, lips brushed the shell of her ear. Darcy inhaled sharply and her hand tightened on his. " Next time I won't play fair. " 


	13. trouble (Darcy/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy/Bucky another three word ask box prompt ficlet.
> 
> 'trouble, time, twist'

"Hurry up, Barnes. The quinjet's on the way," Darcy said as she shoved a hard drive in her bag and set the charge on the last timer.

Darcy checked the clip on her sig as they made their way through the  fire doors onto the roof. Gravel crunching under their boots and a cold wind blew into their faces.

"Why? You gotta hot date, kitten?" Barnes asked a slow smirk curving across his face as he eyes

"Yeah, cause working for a secret government organisation, hanging around mad scientists, assassins and super soldiers gives me time for dating. 

"So that would be a no?"

"The closest thing I've had to a date recently is buying new batteries."

A man dressed in green and yellow, shiny bald head covered in a matching green hat burst through the fire doors. He held a rocket launcher (overcompensating much?) in his meaty hands and roared when he saw them. Darcy aimed but Barnes took him out with a single shot. He checked the body and  slammed the doors shut, twisting the handle in his gloved metal hand until the metal protested beneath his fingers.

"Batteries, eh? You know I could, maybe, help you out with your...trouble," Bucky said with a wolfish grin on his lips.  Light flooded the roof from above and Darcy tensed.

The quinjet had arrived.

"In your dreams, Barnes," Darcy rolled her eyes. She couldn't quite stop her lips from twisting up in a grin.

"The offer still stands, Lewis. You need me and I'm there," Bucky said and raked his eyes over her. "Or I could just watch."

"You're an asshole, Barnes," Darcy and holstered her sidearm.

"Come out for a drink with me after the debrief."

"You're serious?"

"Deadly."

"Not funny."

"Yeah it was."

"Pfft, okay, yeah it was."

"Drinks?"

"Maybe."


	14. flowers (Steve/Darcy/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky/Steve/Darcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anon prompt of Bucky/Steve/Darcy "flowers, movie, bikini". It was supposed to be five sentences but um I got carried away a bit. 
> 
> Thank you Katertots, Twistedingenue and Nessismore for all your help reading various versions of this.

Darcy, you up here?” Bucky shouted as he stepped out onto the little roof garden of their apartment building.

It wasn’t much of a garden; a few pots of sad looking herbs, tomato plants, and little red flowers he can almost remember the name of and Steve has probably sketched a thousand times.

He whistled long and low when his eyes finally settled on Darcy. She's stretched out on her belly on a pale blue towel, wearing a red bikini with bottoms that barely cover the curve of her ass. There was a book open in front of her as she toyed with the cord of her iPod, swinging her feet to whatever she calls music.

“Buck, did you find…oh,” Steve said as he stepped up behind him. He can feel Steve’s hand warm on his back and they both stand there admiring the view. Dark hair and pale skin glistening in the sun. It’s then that she looked over her shoulder and sees them. Darcy’s eyes go wide and a brilliant smile curls up her lips.

“You’re back,” Darcy exclaims and jumps up to her feet, and Christ what a sight. Tiny red bikini barely containing her dangerous curves as she walks their way. Steve's hand twitched on his back and he hears the catch in his breath a moment before Darcy jumps into his arms. Darcy was a revelation from the moment he met her. Her complete and utter disregard for his past, the blood on his hands, the metal where flesh and bone should be, was more than a little endearing.

Darcy accepted him as a part of Steve's life and that was all there was too it. It didn't hurt that she was beautiful and Steve was more than a little bit stupid over is. Bucky wasn't jealous, not exactly, he liked women every bit as much as he did men. 

“You look like fucking sin, dollface,” he said with a grin and hugged her tightly.

He slid his metal hand down the curve of her spine and cupped her ass. Darcy shivered then smacked his chest with a huff, her cheeks a gorgeous shade of pink. It was crossing lines he knew but the girl had very few boundaries when it came to personal space. At least not with them, or the brains in the labs.

“Fuck off, Barnes, you have a boyfriend,” Darcy said with a roll of her eyes. “Hey, Steve, mission go alright?”

“I think our Captain is a little hard up on words, Dee,” Bucky grinned and glanced up at Steve.

Steve’s face was flushed, blue eyes dark and clouded. Bucky shook his head with a laugh.

“A hard man is good to find,” Darcy said, in her best Mae West. She shifted uncomfortably, wrapped her left arm around her belly. “Okaaay, I’m gonna go get dressed now. I’m glad you’re back safe from wherever the hell you’ve been. We can catch a movie or something, okay?”

“Tell our girl she’s fucking gorgeous, punk,” Bucky ordered. Steve looked at him blankly and Bucky whacked him on the back of the head.

“Jerk,” Steve said and elbowed him “You're beautiful, Darcy. You’re always beautiful.”

“Pffft whatever. You’re sweet, Steve,” Darcy said with a shake of her head. She rocked up on her toes and kissed Steve’s cheek. The idiot looked like he’d been hit by a truck. Never could deal with dames, and Darcy was one hell of a dame. She was all sass and fire, and curves straight out of one of Steve’s drawings.

“Christ, Steve, quit your moonin' and kiss the girl."

Steve swallowed hard looking back at him with wide eyes. “Buck,” he asked.

Bucky nodded once and put his hand on the small of Steve’s back. Darcy tried to edge past but Steve caught her before she could escape, arm slipping around her waist and pulled her into his chest. "Okay, Darcy?"

"I...okay," Darcy said. It was all that Steve needed. He covered her mouth with his, slid his hand into her hair. Where Steve failed at words he excelled with actions. Darcy held herself still in Steve’s arms until he pulled back tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. Her arms slid around Steve's neck and she arched into him.

Bucky smirked as Steve’s hand slid down to cup Darcy’s ass and pull her hips into his.

“Smooth, Rogers,” he said under his breath. He rubbed a slow circle on Steve’s lower back.


	15. “Hey, Steve? Know what we should do next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ask box prompt fic for Katertots.
> 
> prompt: “Hey, Steve? Know what we should do next?” 
> 
> the chapter after this one can be read as what follows after this one.

“Hey, Steve? Know what we should do next?” Darcy said with a grin that lit up her whole face as she waved her candy apple around.

He knows what he wants to do. He wants so very much to kiss her. Strip her bare and map every inch of her skin with his hands and his mouth. Bury himself within her. Draw her naked on his bed, tangled in his sheets. Images flood his brain and burn on his tongue. But she’s not his. No matter how much he wants to lick, and kiss, and sink into her. She isn’t his. He scratched his eyebrow and cleared his throat, “I dunno Darce. Funnel cakes?”

“What is it with superheroes and their stomachs? No we have to go on the rollercoaster. Oh is that Beth now?” Darcy said, waving her candy apple. “Oh it’s not her. Thor and Jane should be off the Ferris wheel in a few minutes and then we are totes going on the rollercoaster. You should totally text Beth.”

“Yeah,” he said, and grabbed his phone out of his pocket, sending a quick text. He shoves the phone back in his pocket and watched Darcy grin and wave at Jane and Thor.

He has a girl, but it didn’t stop him from wanting Darcy. Wanted to lose himself in her smile and lick the candy from her mouth. He captured her wrist and ducked his head to steal a bite of her candy apple. It’s sweet and tart and how he imagines she might taste. Darcy shoved his arm and threw her head back as she laughed. He grins and pretends for just a moment that she is his.


	16. this isn't right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask box prompt fic for nessismore.
> 
> prompt: “This isn’t right,” she whispers against his lips.
> 
> can be read as the continuation of the previous chapter if you wish.

“This isn’t right,” she whispers against his lips. She kisses him anyway, hands tugging on his perfect hair. It isn’t right, except it feels like it is. His hands are on her hips and he presses her back against the desk top.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Steve whispers back. He shoves her skirt higher up around her waist, slips his hand between her legs and shoves her panties to the side. He groans when he finds her wet and ready, and covers her mouth as he teases her.

“We should stop,” Darcy says. She slides her hands down Steve’s chest to undo his belt and slide his zipper down, she shoves down his trousers and underwear, wraps her hand around him and strokes him till his hips jerk.

“We should stop,” He says, but they don’t. If anyone found out they would think she corrupted him, seduced him but she’s not the wolf dressed as a lamb. She thinks about the lies, and the consequences and the forms, but when he pushes inside her she can’t think of anything at all.


	17. why'd you wait so long?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask box prompt fic for katertots.
> 
> prompt: Steve/Darcy “Why’d you wait so long?”

“What are you still doing here?” Steve said as he carefully sat down on the couch next to Darcy.

“Well, you see there’s this guy, he’s my best friend and he promised he’d watch this movie with me. Tall blue eyed dude with a bit of a hero complex. Ring any bells?”

“He good lookin’?”

“Bit of a ass but he’s alright I guess,” Darcy smirked. “Pepper said Tony called and you were all okay. She told me I could sleep in one of the guest rooms. I didn’t want to go home with you guys out saving the world and all. You are okay right?”

“Yeah, m’okay,” Steve said, though his ribs ached as the bones knit back together, and the scrapes and cuts on his face and chest still stung from the soap he washed the dirt and blood away with.  
“You look like hell, but whatever. Movie?” Darcy said, eyes narrowed as she examined his face and Steve tried not to squirm. She leaned over him to grab the remote, but he was faster, scooping the remote off the sofa and holding it out of her reach. The movement cost him though and he winced as his ribs creaked.

“Oh my god you liar,” Darcy said, and grabbed for his shirt raising the hem to reveal the bruises covering his stomach and chest. “Damn Steve.”

“I’m fine, it’ll be gone by morning,” Steve huffed, tugged his shirt down, and pressed play, “Let’s just watch the movie.”

“Okay,” Darcy said as she settle down beside him but he kept feeling her eyes on him throughout the first part of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

“I’m fine Darce. Stop worrying,” he said with a sigh and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her into his side. It was perhaps taking liberties and his ribs protested the movement but he felt better with her warmth against him.

“You’re an idiot Steve if you think I’m gonna stop worrying,” Darcy huffed and snuggled tight to his side and patted his knee.

“Been called worse,” Steve muttered. His mind far too focused on her hand still resting on his thigh. The warm press of her soft curves against his side. He shook his head and tried to focus solely on the kid talking on the tv screen. Soon he fell into the story, laughing and feeling better than he for hours, with Darcy curled sleepily with her head on his shoulder.

When the movie finished Darcy yawned and stretched and leaned in to kiss his cheek. That wasn’t any different than any other night. Darcy was always warm and affectionate, hell she had been known to hug Natasha and was still breathing. What was different this time was Steve deliberately turning his head so their lips brushed together. It was more than a little awkward; the angle was off and noses bumping together.

Steve tilted his head and brought their mouths back together swiping his tongue against her lips and licking into her mouth. Darcy gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck when he pulled her into his lap despite the protest of pain from his ribs.

“Steve?” Darcy said. Her pink tongue darting out to lick the corner of her mouth, when he pulled back to catch his breath and steady his racing pulse. He felt a swell of possessive pride at her glassy eyes, flushed cheeks and her swollen lips.

“Wanted to do that since I met you,” Steve said.

“Why’d you wait so long?” Darcy said.

“I’m an idiot remember?” Steve said and pulled her closer to claim her mouth again.


	18. Guinness Cupcakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven million years ago Katertots prompted me with "Steve/Darcy St. Paddy's Day" so I wrote fluff.

Guinness 

It’s Sunday afternoon and he has just gotten back from a long ride to hear music filtering through his open doorway. 

He sighs, opens the door wide enough to step through quietly. He knows who it is before he sees her dancing in his kitchen hips swaying hypnotically to music he isn’t familiar with. He wonders why he never took the key back from her the one time she took it to cook their weekly dinner, but he knows it’s so he can catch her in moments like this, ponytail swinging as she danced around to the music. 

“Oven broke again?” he says and Darcy jumps, a wooden spoon clattering onto the tiles.

“Damn it Rogers,” Darcy says as she spins around and glares at him. She’s wearing tight denim jeans that hug her curves and a faded green t-shirt that says ‘kiss me I’m Irish’ that is tight against her breasts and he is pretty sure he can make out the outline of a darker green brassier underneath. He looks away and scratches the back of his neck willing away the colour creeping up his face.

“Oven?”

“Oh yeah, oven’s a total gonner,” she laments as she kneels down to clean up the wooden spoon and a smear of chocolate from the floor.

“Chocolate?” he asks as he takes off his coat and hangs it up in an overly careful manner.

“And Guinness cupcakes,” Darcy beams brightly and turns around to busy herself at the counter again. His kitchen is a wasteland, spilled flour and sugar and an open Guinness bottle perilously close to the edge of the counter. He swipes the bottle up and takes a long drink trying not to watch as Darcy bends over to pop a tray in the oven and switches the timer on. “15 minutes then it’s showtime. Hey that’s mine!”

“My kitchen, my bottle,” Steve says with a grin.

“Dude there’s a whole case in the fridge. Stark’ll never miss it,” Darcy says with a grin and he notices a small drop of chocolate on her bottom lip.

“You stole Stark’s booze,” he asks, brows raised.

“Mmm he won’t notice,” she says rocking on her heels.

“You have a bit of...” he says waving his hand at his own mouth and her brow furrows before she rubs at the corner of her mouth.

“Did I get it,” she asks and his gaze drops from her bottom lip to her green t-shirt. He bites his lip and sets the empty bottle on the counter top. He leans into her and swipes his tongue along her bottom lip, the cake batter dark and rich on his tongue. Darcy doesn’t pull away and he brushes his mouth against hers gently before pulling back.

“Steve?”

“Jus’ doin’ what your shirt says,” he says with a smirk. “Now what’s this about more beer?”


	19. Shouldn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve/Darcy "You shouldn't kiss me like that."

"You shouldn'ta taken the risk, Darcy," Steve said as they stepped into the elevator of the tower headed for the Avengers floor.

"I saved that kid. It was my choice," she snarled back as the doors closed. 

"Goddamn it, Darce," Steve said and slammed his hand against the emergency stop. "You coulda got yourself killed out there for nothing. Natasha and Sharon had the kid." 

"Nat had her hands full and Sharon was too busy showboating. That kid would have been dead, " Darcy said head tilted back, chin thrust out. She may be short but she was not going to back down.

"Darcy you disobeyed a fuckin' direct order," Steve said. His eyes were dark, cheeks flushed in anger, jaw clenched as he leaned into her space.

"Fuck you, Captain," Darcy spat out and raised her hand, she wasn't entirely sure if she was going to slap him or start the elevator moving again. Steve caught her wrist and pinned her hand to the wall his mouth suddenly pressed hard against hers. He bit her bottom lip and when she gasped his tongue pushed into her mouth to slide against hers. It was desperate and hungry and despite herself Darcy kissed him back.

"You shouldn't kiss me like that," Darcy gasped when he pulled his mouth away. So many reasons lay unspoken between them.

"I know," Steve said and kissed her again his hands sliding down to her waist to press her up against the wall.


	20. Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve/Darcy "dance lessons" prompt from Katertots. It's a ball of fluff written on my phone. All mistakes are mine.

She was running late, but to be fair it wasn't her fault. The lab was quite literally a disaster zone after Tony had helpfully turned one of Jane's machines sentient and it attacked the espresso machine. Needless to say Jane wasn't happy and an unhappy Jane meant Darcy had to work twice as hard to smooth things over and get the lab back in shape. 

She was still running through a mental list of things when she ran through the studio doors and nearly went flying when she tripped over a pair of brown boots. She was saved from falling by a muscular arm wrapping around her waist and steadying her back on her feet. 

"You okay," asks an amused voice and Darcy looks up and up into a handsome face, blonde hair and blue eyes sparking in amusement.

"Uh yeah. Sorry I was running late for--" 

"Hey Lewis you're late," Tony says from beside the man still his arm around her waist. 

"Bite me Stark," Darcy snaps as the man slowly releases her. His eyebrows are creeping up his forehead and a small smirk is twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"I would take you up on the offer but I'll have to ask Pepper. Hey Pep can I bite Lewis," Tony says grinning and looking over his shoulder at Pepper Potts. 

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Darcy. Tony has said so much about you," Pepper says and Darcy's mouth drops a little bit. 

"Really," Darcy asks when she finds her voice because she never imagined her shouting at Tony when he invaded Jane's lab to be any sort of endorsement. 

"Really Lewis how could I not wax lyrical about your sarcasm and bountiful bosom," Tony grins and winks at her. 

"Stark--"

"Oh yeah. Lewis meet Steve, your dance partner," Tony says. 

"What dance partner? Your text said to meet you in this studio at 7:30 as a matter of life, death and pizza," Darcy says with a frown but before Tony can reply a small woman with grey hair and a vicious looking cane starts shouting in french and jabbing the cane at Darcy's feet. 

"You have to take your shoes off," Steve says sheepishly and she glances down at his feet clad in blindingly bright white socks and the brown boots to the side. 

"Huh so that's what I tripped on," Darcy says.

"M'sorry," Steve says.

"S'okay," Darcy nods and grabs ahold of Steve's arm for balance as she takes off her heels. "Damn you're tall."

"Uh," Steve says but the little grey haired woman starts shouting at them and forcibly placing their hands. His hand is warm in hers and through the thin fabric of Darcy's shirt and his amused smile rattle loose a butterfly or two in Darcy's belly.   
"I'm sorry if I step on your toes. I've never done this before."

"How about I just stand on your feet," Darcy says and Steve's face lights up with a brilliant smile and that just isn't fair. "So Steve what did you do to end up in dancing hell?"

"Lost a bet," Steve says as they turn and he steps on her toes again. "M'sorry. You work in Dr. Foster's lab?"

"Yup, that's me lab grunt numero uno with the killer rack," Darcy says wrinkling up her nose. Steve's gaze drops from her eyes to her tits and back up again the tips of his ears glowing faintly red. Interesting. 

"Um," Steve says and She thinks she may have rendered him speechless until he smirks and Darcy stumbles into his chest. "Worth dying for."

"Smooth," Darcy says and places her feet on Steve's. He chuckles low, his hand on her back pulling her closer and Darcy's stomach flips.


	21. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane's had a little too much to drink and over shares. Steve's mostly helpful and Darcy is pretty mortified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random little plotbunny that popped into my head this morning.

"You got drunk without me?" Darcy frowned as Jane waved her glass in in the air.

"M'not drunk, Darce. M'happy," she said and began singing softly again.

"Riiiight. Come on Jane let's get you in bed," Darcy sighed and wrapped an arm around Jane's shoulders.

"Want some help?" Rumbled a voice from behind them and Darcy startled looking up to see Captain Rogers...Steve tossing an apple back and forth between his hands.

"Oh thank god. Can you carry her to her room? I swear she's like a cat you're trying to to take for a walk when drunk."

"M'not drunk! You never listen to me Darcy," Jane frowned as Darcy took the glass from her hand and Steve scooped her up into his arms. Darcy picked up Jane's shoes and notebook and followed after Steve.

"You're strong," Jane slurred patting Steve on the shoulder when he deposited her on her bed and Darcy shuffled about filling a glass with water and handing it to Jane.

"Tell him something he doesn't already know," Darcy muttered.

"Okay," Jane hiccuped and focused blearily on Steve's face. "Darcy's vibrator s'named the Captain."

"Oh my god Jane, shut up," Darcy cried out burying her face in her hands.

"She said s'blue en errything."

"Oh god. Just kill me now," she blushed harder and spread her fingers wide enough to glance at Steve's face as he chuckled. "Out," she ordered pointing blindly at the door and he shrugged and slipped out into the hall. "Drink your water and tomorrow I will remind you why I'm not gonna talk to you ever again."

"S'okay Darcy," Jane said sipping from the glass and handing it back to Darcy. "Nighty night."

"Night," she murmured closing the door as she stepped into the hall.

"So the Captain?" Steve asked and Darcy jumped whirling around to face him. His left eyebrow arched, smirk curving up his mouth as he leaned against the wall.

Captain America should not have a smirk that dirty in his repertoire.

"You can't ask that! They'll take away your merit badges," Darcy said waving her hands for emphasis. 

"I was never a Boy Scout," Steve said smugly.

"I can see that. I'm not talking about my sex life with anyone that isn't my best friend or someone I'm dating."

"What time should I pick you up?" Steve rumbled low.

"Admittedly I made a bad choice on the best friend--" she said cutting herself off mid babble eyes wide. "Wait what?"

"What time shall I pick you up for our date tomorrow night?" Steve asked pushing off from the wall. The smile on his face was warm and Darcy echoed it.

"Seven thirty," Darcy said before her brain could fully catch up with her mouth.

"See you then."

"Did you really just ask me out?"

"Yes."

"Oh...kay then."


	22. Coffee and Awkwardness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy is awkward, Steve is awkward and Jane is fed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble inspired by Hailaragorn prompting the quote, "How do you politely tell someone you want them naked on top of you?"
> 
> Unbeta'd so there will probably be a million mistakes. Sorry.

"How do you politely tell someone you want them naked on top of you?" Darcy asked tapping her favourite red pen on her bottom lip.

"Is this about Steve again? Just ask him out already. It's pathetic," Jane sighed flipping through charts and scribbled lists of equations. "Where are the numbers from last Thursday?"

"I can't ask Steve out, he is to far out of my dating pool...pond...puddle?" she whined digging though a stack of papers and handing Jane Thursday's numbers.

"And Thor isn't out of mine?"

"Dude, that's totally different and you know it. The beautiful scientist with the brain that manages to give Tony Stark a science boner is dating the blonde god of Thunder. It's like a Disney movie. Princess Jane the Astrophysicist and the Asgardian Prince Thor. There will be songs, Jane! Furry woodland creatures! I'll be a little owl or like a mink or something."

"Why would you be an animal?"

"Duh, I'm totally your Igor, Janey."

"Don't call me that and you are not my Igor. I still think you need to put your big girl pants on and go ask Steve out."

"No can do, Janey-poo," Darcy trilled tossing her pen into the air and catching it.

"You're impossible Darce," Jane huffed scrawling out a long string of equations on the back of a take out menu. Darcy shrugged and tossed her pen up into the air. The pen never fell back down, a large hand attached to a plaid covered arm grabbed the pen. 

"Hey," Darcy burst out and spun her chair around to face a throughly bemused Captain Rogers. "Captain," she squeaked and his smile ticked up another notch.

"Miss Lewis, Dr. Foster. I was told you were in need of coffee," Steve said holding up a cardboard tray of coffees with a brown paper bag balanced precariously on top. 

"Marry me," Darcy said pulling one of the cups free. Her eyes widened a second later and Captain Rogers' left eyebrow arched.

"I'd rather I got to know a girl, go on at least one date before agreeing to marriage."

"It's a uh thing from a show. Arrested Development. God just ignore me. Darcy Lewis is not here. She does not exist," Darcy babbled covering her eyes with her hand and hoping Jane would open a wormhole that would swallow her whole.

"You know if you didn't exist I'd never get the chance to ask you out," Captain Rogers said.

"Is there something in the coffee?" Darcy asked opening the lid on her caramel latte and looking at it sceptically. "Jane, don't drink the coffee. I think Stark put something in it...again."

"There is nothing in the coffee, but the absurd amount of syrup Dr. Selvig told me you always order," Captain Rogers said as he leaned against the table hands in his pockets.

"You asked Erik about my favourite caffeinated beverage?" Darcy murmured brow furrowed. Jane snickered into her cup.

"Yes, I asked Dr. Selvig what your favourite drink was. So I could bring you it and ask you out for...um...coffee?" Captain Rogers smiled wanly and ran a hand over his short cropped hair.

"Are you well Captain? Did you hit your head when those beetle things attacked that bagel place yesterday? Er, not that I know anything about that...at all. We should have Dr. Banner examine your head."

"Oh my god, Darcy just say yes. Go out with Steve, fall in love, get married, have awkwardly adorable babies and get out of my lab," Jane said waving a stack of papers at them. 

"But I already have a coffee," Darcy frowned and lifted her cup.

"No you don't," Jane said and grabbed Darcy's cup and dropped it in the garbage. "Go now."

"Sheesh Jane," Darcy said getting to her feet and grabbing her satchel. "I, uh, coffee, Cap...Steve?" 

"Coffee," Steve grinned and held out his arm, Darcy hesitated only a moment before looping her arm around his.

"Finally," Jane crowed as they stepped out of the lab and into the hall.


	23. Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompt: "Will you draw me, Steve," Darcy asked quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild panic this morning when I read nessismore's latest ficlet and realised Steve & Bucky have somewhat similar conversations in both. But we talked it out and she convinced me to post as the end result isn't the same. We agree that we have similar headcanons for Bucky being a marvellous little shit. When you have done with this go read nessismore's.

"You ever gonna do something about that?" Bucky asked as he dropped down on the couch in an inelegant sprawl sending coloured pencils and pens scattering across the floor.

"What?" Steve said closing his sketch books and starting to gather the pencils from the floor.

"I may only have half my marbles but I remember that look."

"What look? I'm not giving you a look," Steve replied picking up the last pen and shoving it into his pencil case.

"That same innocent look you used ta give the nuns and they would fall for it every damn time. You need to go talk to your girl."

"She isn't my girl," Steve muttered, jaw tense.

"Instead of asking her to go to the movies you sit here pining over her and drawing picture after picture from your big brain," Bucky grinned and tapped Steve's temple with the fingers of his cybernetic hand.

"Quit it," Steve huffed batting Bucky's hand away.

"Go talk to Darcy or I'll tell her you've been drawing pin-ups of her and jerking off to them."

"You're an asshole," Steve frowned slamming his sketch book on the table, ears burning.

"Yup, go ask the Spitfire out before I lose faith that you have any balls left at all."

"Fuck you," Steve snarled stalked out of the apartment and into the Avengers communal kitchen.

Midway through piling a plate with leftover pizza Darcy walked into the room, skirt swishing around her hips as she wiped her glasses clean on her sweater. "Hello, Miss Le...Darcy," Steve said.

"Hi... so mind if I ask you a question?" Darcy asked as she shoved her glasses back on her nose and shifted nervously from heel to heel.

"Okay."

"Will you draw me, Steve?" Darcy asked quietly.

"Oh," he said dumbly at an utter loss for words, mind filling with thoughts of all the sketches of Darcy filling his notebook. Her bright smile when she talked about books and characters from tv shows, the dark tumble of her hair spilling loose over her shoulders, her dirty purple boots with the green laces, the blue dress she wore to the last party in the tower.

"...I mean not right now, you have like superheroing to do. Is that even a word? Anyways Grandma Lewis, well before she was a Lewis she was an O'Donnell. Alice O'Donnell. You drew her once for an ad for soap flakes and...I'm making a tit of myself aren't I?," Darcy babbled cheeks turning increasingly pink.

"I don't think I got half of that," Steve said lips twitching as he leaned back against the counter.

"Oh," Darcy said, eyes wide, pink lips turned down in a frown. "Sorry... I'll just be in Jane's lab dying of embarrassment."

"You're nervous," Steve said catching Darcy's hand as she turned to leave.

"Well, duh," Darcy said looking down at their hands.

"But you're never nervous. You always push ahead and say whatever you think. All fire and sass. I like it. I like you."

"What?"

"I like you and yes, I'll draw you," he said sincerely giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Really? You'll draw me?" Darcy asked lighting up like a firework swinging their joined hands together. "Wait, what was that other bit?"

"I uh--" Steve said words cut short as Darcy bounced up on her toes and kissed his cheek. She pulled away, a wide grin curving across her full lips. Steve wrapped his free arm around her waist pulled her into his chest and brushed his mouth against hers.

All thoughts of it being innocent evaporating when Darcy opened her mouth in invitation. Steve licked into her mouth, tangled his tongue with hers, kissing her until they were both gasping for breath. "I like you."

"I'm okay with that. I think you should kiss me again," Darcy said with a grin that matched his.


	24. Five and a half hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted with a photoset from New Girl that is doing the rounds on my tumblr dash. "I've been watching porn." "Five and a half hours."

"Hi Darce. I thought you were in the lab today," Steve says as he steps into the avengers lounge.

"Tony hacked my laptop and all the lab computers. I've been watching porn," Darcy says stifling a yawn.

"Oh," Steve says rubbing the back of his neck. "Um okay. I'll uh, just....go?"

"Five and a half hours."

"Uh," Steve says unable to fathom anything more eloquent.

"You can watch with me," Darcy says patting the sofa next to her.

"What? No."

"Oh come off it, Steve. I know you aren't in possession of your V-card, I talked to Beth when you were dating. Personally I think shes an idiot for breaking up with you if you could...ew gross! Not with those nails honey," Darcy says tapping the keys. "What was I saying?"

"You talked to Beth about my sex life?" Steve blurts out, sitting down beside Darcy and ignoring her laptop screen.

"Duh, girls talk, it's what we do....oh look this gif is super hot," Darcy grins tilting her laptop towards Steve. The gif is in black and white, a woman in stockings, a garter belt, and lace panties, a man in a white shirt and tie has his hand in her panties as the woman undoes his belt. 

He's seen more explicit things back in his youth but he can't quite help imagining Darcy and himself in the same position. Thoughts like that are what's gonna get him in trouble. "Yeah," he says looking away from the screen and Darcy grins brightly at him as she taps a few more keys.


	25. Coffee and Bacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quote prompt.
> 
> "Coffee, I should just marry you. You're the most satisfying thing I've had in me all week."

Coffee

"Oh coffee," Darcy murmurs reverently into her coffee mug as she sits down at the Avengers communal kitchen. She's not an Avenger's plus one, more of a plus one's plus one, entrusted with the care and feeding of a scientist that doesn't know how to sleep. 

Darcy sips her coffee and sends a silent prayer to Asgard that Thor gets his shiny ass back to Earth so she can go home. Not that home is anything to well write home about but Darcy likes her dinky studio apartment. Not that her temporary room in the tower wasn't sweet, it just wasn't hers. Though it did offer state of the art entertainment and the opportunity to view superheroes in their pyjamas. She takes another sip of coffee and sighs happily, "Coffee, I should just marry you. You're the most satisfying thing I've had in me all week."

"Just say the word, spitfire. I'd be happy to satisfy you," Bucky says with a wink as he leans against the counter coffee cup in his robotic hand, donut in the other.

"Buck," Steve cautions as he flicks bacon from the frying pan onto a plate. 

"Dude, not that you aren't pretty but I'm pretty sure your balls have 'property of Natasha' stamped on them," Darcy says rolling her eyes and Steve snorts across the room.

"You're always welcome to join us, Darcy," he grins evilly above the rim of his coffee cup.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Barnes. I'm not sure I'd survive a threesome with you and Natasha. I prefer my blood on the inside," she says focusing on the little lump of solid cream floating in her coffee.

"Your loss, Darce," Bucky says setting his mug down, picking an apple from the ridiculously large fruit bowl. "I have an alternative though," he smirks rolling the apple along his arm, head cocking to the side he throws the apple across the room. It's a blur across Darcy's field of vision aimed at the back of Steve's head. Steve turns, spatula in hand and grabs the apple before it hits his skull.

"What the hell, Bucky," Steve frowns down at the apple and tosses it back. Bucky catches it just as effortlessly. Fucking superheroes.

"You gotta date with Darcy tonight at eight. Don't be late, punk," James says, shit eating grin splitting his face as he rolls the apple between his palms.

"What," Darcy and Steve say in tandem. Darcy's eyes are wide as she looks between James and Steve.

"Bacon's gonna burn," Bucky says with a fluid roll of his shoulders he saunters out of the kitchen.

"Damn it," Steve mutters turning back to the frying pan and rescuing the bacon before it turns to cinders. "Ow."

"You don't have to take me out. I mean it's just...you know...your friend is kinda an asshole," Darcy says quietly.

"What? No. I mean yes. Damn."

"No you don't want to take me out? Or no your friend isn't an asshole?" she asks brow quirking up.

"Yes, I want to take you out and yes my friend is an ass," Steve says turning to face her a whisk in one hand and a blue bowl in the other. 

"Okay," Darcy says carefully and Steve grins crookedly. His gaze drops to the bowl in his hand and he begins whisking it.

"Pancakes?" Steve asks lifting the bowl up. 

"As long as they come with more coffee and a fu...ton of syrup," Darcy says and Steve chuckles as he whisks.


	26. pennyroyal tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a simple thing but it makes him feel human to sit there listening to the chatter from other tables while the music playing softly in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had a crappy couple of days and today I wanted to write something, anything. A plotbunny that I had been ignoring for awhile hopped up and bit me, and the result is this little ficlet.
> 
> Thanks go to Britt1975 for beta reading and for being an all around superstar.
> 
> Also thanks must go to Katertots for listening to me whine all day.

Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.- Maya Angelou 

 

The Magpie’s coffee house is a little down the block from Steve’s apartment in Red Hook. It’s small and filled with mismatched chairs, squashy sofas and scarred wooden tables. The walls are papered with old book pages, in fact everywhere you look there are stacks and shelves of books. It’s comfortable, the coffee is rich and bitter, the malts and Italian sodas taste damn close to what he remembers before the war and the ice. The cakes are slathered in rich butter cream icing, enough to satisfy the sweet tooth he pretends he doesn’t have. He sometimes sits for hours reading a book or sketching the patrons, it’s a simple thing but it makes him feel human to sit there listening to the chatter from other tables while the music playing softly in the background.

It’s open mic night and he considers leaving after a comedian tells some spectacularly unfunny jokes about the Avengers - personally he thought the joke about Captain America had been rather clever - and a singer who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket warbled on the tiny stage for too long. It had been a bad week for the Avengers, and he just wants to sit and feel normal for a little while, drink coffee, enjoy his red velvet cake and a sandwich. For a little while he can almost forget being Captain America and just be anyone in the crowd.

Steve pops a lump of sugar in his mouth, turns the page over in his sketchbook and falls into the simple act of putting pen to paper. He draws an outline of the lanky kid reading poetry from a note book that looks to be in worse shape than Steve’s sketchbook. Steve sketches in the kid’s small eyes and unruly hair, the birdlike twitches of his hands and the striped scarf wrapped around his neck. 

He sips his coffee and fills in the last few details of the sketch, when the kid, Greg, steps off the stage and a dame with long dark hair steps on. She’s wearing a faded red t-shirt with ‘Land of Enchantment’ scrawled in white writing, dark denim jeans, and purple basketball shoes. Out of a battered guitar case, with stickers stuck to the front and ribbons trailing from the handle, she pulls a plain wooden guitar. She lifts the rainbow hued strap over her head and perches nervously on the wooden stool. 

“Hey there, I’m Darcy. When I was a little kid my grandma would take me with her to this bar in town, order me a Shirley Temple and I would sit there sipping it while she sang with the band. She always said ‘music is everything when all you have is nothing’. So yeah,” the girl, Darcy says cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. She pushes up her glasses self-consciously, taps the toe of her right foot on the floor as she strums a few cords. 

Steve doesn’t know the first two songs she sings, he still has a lot to catch up on, but she has a beautiful voice, it’s husky and resonates within him. Or so he thinks. Bucky always said he was a bit of a fool for flowery thoughts and a pretty tune. He sketches her with quick movements of his pen across the page, a rough outline that he fills in the quirk of her mouth, her bright eyes hidden behind thick framed glasses. His hand stills on the page when she starts singing an Andrews Sisters’ song he recognises and he can’t help but smile and tap his boot along to the rhythm. Before he knows it the last song has finished, claps his hands along with everyone else, and watches Darcy grin and tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Here you go, a fresh Americano with cream, and a Roast Beast with Canadian cheddar,” says the waitress, Ann, with a bright smile. She sets a coffee and a sandwich big enough to keep his stomach happy, for a little while at least. Anne gathers up his empty coffee cup and the plate that his slab of cake was served on. Ann nods to his open sketchbook and the pen he is twirling between his fingers. “That’s real nice. She’s very pretty.”

“Yeah she is,” Steve says letting his gaze slide from his sketch to the girl on the stage. 

“Anything else I can get you?”

He scrapes he teeth on his bottom lip and thinks briefly of Bucky before asking, “Can you send a Shirley Temple to her...Darcy...the girl on stage?” 

“You’re sweet,” Ann says with a soft smile and a pat on his shoulder. Steve rubs his knuckles along his jaw and drops his gaze to his coffee. He drops two lumps of sugar into his coffee, pulls the tomato off his sandwich, and takes a bite. H is phone buzzes in his jeans pocket but he refuses to answer it. He has had more than enough of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Tony Stark today. He looks up at Ann weaves through the tables, a Shirley Temple in a tall glass, blue paper umbrella, cherries shining brightly in the light, and beads of condensation dripping down. 

Darcy’s at a table off to the left of the stage now, fiddling with the latch on her guitar case when Ann hands her the drink. The words they exchange are beyond his hearing but Darcy cocks her head to the side when Ann points at his table. Steve ducks his head a little when her eyes find him and he struggles not to slide down in his chair in embarrassment. He doesn’t blush, though it’s a near thing, when she holds up the little paper umbrella, mouths ‘thank you’ and smiles warmly. Steve meets her eyes, feels some of the tension in his chest ease when he echoes her smile.

 

Darcy’s Song List

Pennyroyal tea- Nirvana  
Thunder Road- Bruce Springsteen  
Feelin Good- Nina Simone  
I can dream, can’t I? - The Andrews Sisters


	27. devil and a blue dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy goes shopping and Bucky tags along. Darcy/Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I says this a lot but....This is all Katertots fault. All of it. In fact she even helped me when I whimpered and sobbed at the end because my words were failing me. Thanks for all your support Katy, and for beta'ing and enabling too.
> 
> prompt: “Hi, I need something that will make a guy come in his pants as soon as he sees me,” - Samantha (Sex and the City)

“Why are we here, dollface?” Bucky asks.

“ _I’m_ here shopping for a dress,” Darcy replies, flipping absently through the dresses on a rack. “I don’t know why you’re here. Romanoff kick you out again?”

“Nope. I’m here ‘cause you are far more entertaining to trail than Steve,” Bucky grins, rocking back and forth on his heels. “What’s the dress for? Hot date?”

“Well, it’s a date,” Darcy hedges.

“With who?” Bucky asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Robert, one of the lab interns. Jane thinks he’ll be a great match. So, you know how well that’s gonna go.”

“What about Steve?”

Darcy stops and looks at him over her shoulder. _“What about Steve?”_

“You know he’s sweet on you,” Bucky says, pulling a red and blue dress off the rack.

“He is not, Bucky. He’s dating that blonde agent,” Darcy says wrinkling her nose and putting the hanger back.

“Nope. She kicked him to the curb.”

“May I help you?” says an elegant woman with perfectly styled grey hair, and a black and white belted dress.

“Hi, I need something that will make a guy come in his pants as soon as he sees me,” Darcy says and Bucky snorts behind her. The woman frowns, disapproving eyes skimming over Darcy’s thrift store blouse and flowery skirt.

“I’ll see what I can find,” the woman sniffs and walks away.

“I’m telling ya, all you really gotta do is show up at Steve’s door. Better yet, the robot’ll let you in and you can be naked.”

“Dude, give it a rest.”

"You show up at Steve's in the dress I choose tonight and I'll buy you all the dresses you want. Shoes too," Bucky smirks holding up a black Amex card.

Darcy flicks her eyes to the card and back to Bucky. "Since when is your last name Stark?"

"Since Monday."

“It’s Monday.”

“Well, how about that,” Bucky shrugs, flashing a lopsided grin.

“And if Steve slams the door in my face?” she asks dubiously.

“Won’t happen, dollface. Whatta ya say? Deal?”

Darcy worries at her bottom lip, twists her fingers together and sighs. “Okay, it’s a deal,” she agrees, somehow feeling like she’s just made a deal with the devil.

..............

Hours later, Darcy’s standing in front of the door to Steve’s apartment talking to herself. She’s in a pale blue dress that hugs all her curves and shows far more cleavage than she’s used to, and four-inch red peep-toe heels. “Okay, girls, we can do this,” she mumbles, sticking her hand in her bra to adjust her boobs one last time.

“Darcy?” says a deep voice behind her back.

“Oh shit,” Darcy mutters under her breath, whirling around to face Captain America. “Hi, Steve.”

“Hi,” he smiles, eyes raking over her body. “What’re you doin’ here?” 

“It’s Bucky’s fault. It’s stupid. I should go.”

“Wait. What’d Bucky do?”

Darcy huffs out a breath, annoyed for making a deal with the spawn of Satan. “We made a deal. He bought my dress on the condition I show up at your door. And—it’s stupid. I should’ve known better. You don’t even like me that way,” Darcy says to Steve’s shoes in a rush.

“Sorry?” he blinks, confused.

“I should go,” Darcy says, turning on her heel.

“Wait,” Steve says reaching out towards her but not quite touching her arm. Darcy turns her head to face him. Steve runs a hand through his hair and if she didn’t know better she’d say he’s nervous. That's a helluva dress. You look gorgeous.”

“What?”

“You’re a beautiful dame in a beautiful dress.”

“Did I fall into a wormhole?”

“Don’t think so, but...” Steve trails off with a shrug. “Still the truth.”

“Really?” Darcy asks turning to fully face Steve. His eyes flick down to her cleavage and back up to meet her eyes.

Steve flashes a smile that makes her knees feel like jelly. “Yes, really.”

“Bucky picked it.”

“Remind me to thank him later.”


	28. Shouldn't part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a sequel to ["Shouldn't"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/1398544) prompted by inkandash

Shouldn’t. The word sits heavy and bitter on her tongue. 

Steve shouldn’t have kissed her like that. She most certainly shouldn’t have kissed him back. Darcy walked away. Stepped out of the elevator and didn’t look back. Didn’t let herself think until they were separated by locked doors and empty halls. Pressed her fingertips to her lips where they still tingled, cursed his name, and damned herself for a fool.

Adrenaline and anger. Nothing more. The sugar spun lie she told herself to fall asleep.

Morning came and Darcy pulled herself together, brushed her hair and slipped on her mask. She dressed herself with haphazard care in her favourite sweater, leggings and battered cowboy boots. She shuffled into the Avengers communal kitchen in search of coffee and Jane. It’s a mistake.

“Mornin’,” Steve rumbled behind her. Darcy stiffened, turned slowly clutching an empty coffee cup in one hand and the carafe in the other. 

“Morning, Captain,” Darcy said flatly. She flicked her eyes over his rumpled appearance, messy hair low slung grey sweats, tight grey t-shirt, and bare pink toes. “Coffee?” she asked raising her empty cup.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded leaning against the counter. He ran his hands through his hair smoothing it down.

“Milk? Sugar?” Darcy asked pulling another cup down from the shelf.

“Both, ” he muttered and Darcy nodded, making a careful show of pouring the coffee, adding sugar and milk. “Thanks.” 

“Mhmm,” Darcy said handing him his cup. She felt Steve’s eyes sweep over and fought the urge to squirm. She focused on the mug warming her hands, the coffee bitter and sweet on her tongue.

“M’Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again,” Darcy said gripping her cup so tight she feared it might shatter.

“What if I want it to?” Steve said low. Darcy sucked in a breath of air, felt the world shift and her belly flip as their eyes met. 

“I don’t know what to say to that. What am I supposed to say to that?” she said. She felt her mask slipping and dropped her gaze to Steve’s bare feet on the marble tiles. “I...I have to go, Captain.”


	29. Skull Island

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katertots prompted me Steve/Darcy 'lingerie' and then Britt1975 asked for more. So this is all their fault.

Three days. Darcy had been in New York for all of three days when the weirdness of superheroes comes crashing through her window. 

Literally.

She's never hated that word more than she does now. 

It might have been funny if Captain America hadn't landed on her laptop. Rolling to his red booted feet seconds before a Robby the Robot wannabe took out half the wall.

Or if she hadn't been dancing around in her lingerie at the time. At least it wasn't laundry day. 

The robot clinked, its head spun around in a circle. Small ball bearings spray out across the walls and ping against Captain America's shield. 

"Sorry," he murmurs as he sweeps her into his arms. His boots crunch on glass and crumbled brick and through the hole in her wall. 

"Put me down! I'm not Fay Wray!" Darcy snaps clutching at the blue fabric of his suit. Cap snorts as he leaps down to the ground from the third floor. 

"Oh no, it wasn't the airplanes. It was beauty killed the beast," Cap says low as he carefully sets her down on her feet. 

The asphalt is warm beneath her toes. As warm as her cheeks. His blue eyes flick down to her cleavage and back up to meet her gaze.   
........

Four hours after Captain America and Robby the robot duked it out in her apartment Darcy found herself in the lobby of the Avengers tower. She was wearing a coat from Mrs. Henderson down stairs that was covered in cat hair and smelled faintly of mothballs and cabbages.

"What do you mean I can't go up to see Dr. Foster. I'm Dr. Foster's assistant," Darcy snaps. The receptionist frowns at her from behind the safety of her desk hand hovering over the phone.

"I'm sorry but you need ID verification," the receptionist says tapping her nails on the desk.

"I don't have any ID on me. Captain Freaking America crashed through my apartment and the police won't let me back in," Darcy snaps running her hands though her tangled hair.

"I'm sorry I can't help you."

"You can call Dr. Foster or Dr. Selvig," Darcy says slapping her hand on the counter. "Goddamn it."

"Excuse me, ma'am, can I help you?" says a polite voice behind her. Darcy spins around holding the ends of her borrowed coat together. She looks up and up into blue eyes and a bemused smile.

"Everything is fine, Captain Rogers, miss Lewis here was just leaving," the receptionist says primly. 

"No," Darcy snaps pointing at the receptionist. "Please tell me you know Dr. Foster," Darcy pleads. 

"I know both," Captain Rogers say. 

"Right. You can take me to Jane," Darcy nods looping her arm with his and tugging him towards the elevators. He doesn't budge. "Please take me to Jane. I'm standing here in my underwear, a borrowed coat covered in cat hair that smells of cabbages and my bare feet." 

Captain Rogers eyes flick down to Darcy's toes and slowly back up to her face. "As you wish, Miss Lewis." 

.....

(Carl Denham: Oh no, it wasn't the airplanes. It was beauty killed the beast. -King Kong 1933)


	30. iPod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy leaves her iPod lying around. Again.

The days after an assemble always seem to crawl by; meetings, arguments, bones to knit back together, bruises to fade, and torn muscles to heal again.

Steve prefers his little Brooklyn apartment to staying at the Tower, but the Tower does have its perks. Endless hot water, a kitchen stocked with more food than he can eat while his body goes about repairing itself, endless entertainment in the form of movies and music, whatever he can ask JARVIS for, and a fancy gym where he hasn’t managed to wreck anything. So far anyway, he still plans on giving it a go when his shoulder stops aching like a sonovabitch.

Shifting his position on the couch, he turns the page of his book and reaches for the bottle of beer on the coffee table. His shoulder protests the movement, and he snarls under his breath.

“Alright there, Captain?” Darcy says as she snatches the bottle off the table, taking a sip before handing it to him and flopping down on the couch beside him. “You got pretty banged up by that Douchebot, not that I know anything about that. I’m just a lab grunt after all."

“Doombot,” he corrects absently.

Darcy rolls her eyes, “Seriously?”

“M’fine, Darcy,” he mutters. Darcy looks dubiously at him and pokes at his shoulder. “Stop it.”

“Sure you’re fine.”

“Is there something I can do for you, Miss Lewis?” he asks, shifting a little further out of her reach and not rubbing his shoulder.

“Oh, touchy are we, Rogers?” Darcy arches a brow at him and delves into her bag for a tablet, a generic one with an obnoxiously bright pink silicone cover. “And the answer is nope. I’m just waiting on Jane to escape Thor and remember Science.” Darcy curls up beside him, reading something he can’t see on the tablet and twisting a lock of hair around her fingers.

It’s not long before Jane comes scurrying down the hall, disheveled and muttering a string of science babble. “See ya around, Steve,” Darcy winks at him. She shoves the tablet back in her bag and chases off after Dr. Foster, curls bouncing and hips swaying. Not that he noticed that. Nope. Not at all.

Steve finishes reading the chapter of his book and gets up off the sofa, suppressing a groan when he jars his arm. Poking out from one of the cushions is the corner of something bright orange, Darcy’s iPod. He picks the iPod up and shoves it into his pocket, making a mental note to text her about it later. No point in leaving it out for Stark to confiscate. Again.

……

After tossing and turning from an aching shoulder and nightmares playing out behind his closed eyes, Steve gives up on sleep. Throwing back the covers, he pads barefoot into his small kitchen and fixes himself a sandwich. Darcy's iPod sits face down on the corner of the counter beside the bowl loose change and keys live in. Taking the last bite of his sandwich, he dusts the crumbs from the counter and sets his plate in the sink. He picks up the iPod and untangles the mess of knots.

Steve swipes his thumb over the screen and music starts playing from the earbuds. It's too loud to his sensitive ears, brash and far too lively for the middle of the night. The music makes him think of Darcy though, when she's in the lab with Jane, or tapping her toes when JARVIS plays something she likes. Turning down the volume and putting the earbuds in, Steve walks back into the bedroom and settles back on the pillows. The screen of the iPod is the only light in the room. He flicks through a few albums, random songs in a playlist that jar against one another, a 'Welcome to Night Vale' podcast, and a serial radio show from the 40s that makes him smile at the bittersweet reminder of his past.

He's half asleep, listening to the Civil Wars, hands resting on his belly, loosely holding the iPod. The song ends and shuffles to the next track. A husky voice, deep and raspy, sends a shiver of heat racing down his spine. That voice. Darcy's voice. There's no album cover, just the title 'Blue' and Darcy's voice in his ears.

_…She straddles his lap, trembling at the feel of his calloused hands sliding up her bare thighs. Her skirts are rucked up over his wrists as his fingers tease against the lace of panties. "I want you," he says trailing kisses over her collarbone…._

Damn.

........

“You are a freaking life saver, Steve,” Darcy grins, grabbing the iPod out of his hands and whirling around in her chair to place it in the dock.

“Not a problem, I just didn’t want Tony to turn it into a robot or something,” Steve says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well I better g...oh...”

_...He presses a kiss to each trembling thigh, fingers delving into..._

“Oh my god,” Darcy says, cheeks flushed as pink as the blush creeping up his next. She rolls her chair back to the dock, yanking the iPod out with more force than strictly necessary. Shit.

“I uh...I’ll go,” Steve mumbles, turning on his heel.

Oh no you don’t,” Darcy says, hooking her fingers in one of his belt loops. “Have fun listening to my podfic, Steven?”

“I..,” Steve’s voice trails off as he turns to face her. He has no way to reply to that. He can’t say that listening to her husky voice on the iPod had him slipping his hand into his sweats imagining it was them in the story. Wishing it was his hands and mouth on her skin.

Darcy lets go of his belt loop and he takes a small half step back. “Yes,” he confesses voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, I did.”

“Oh,” Darcy says, head tilting to the side as her eyes flick over him. “Oh,” she repeats, the soft blush on her cheeks darkening, a slow smirk curving her lips. “You know if you wanted, you could call me tonight.”

“Call you?” Steve says, swallowing hard.

“You like fairy tales right, Cap?”

“I...yes?”

“Mhmm, call me and I’ll read you a bedtime story,” Darcy says, voice low and seductive, though the color doesn’t fade from her cheeks. Steve opens and closes his mouth like a damn fish gasping for air.

“I...yeah,” Steve says, wondering if it would be better if he swallowed his own damn tongue than stutter like a fool. “I’ll call you tonight, Darcy,” he says, firmly – using just the edge of the Captain America persona to lend strength to his voice. Darcy’s eyes widen, teeth dragging over her bottom lip a moment before she blows him a kiss across the small space between them.


	31. he calls her baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of flirty fluff.

"So...Cap," Darcy says, tapping her fingers on his shield as they stand in the hallway waiting for Coulson to arrive. 

"Is there something I can do for you, Miss Lewis?" Steve asks as he pushes his cowl back and runs his hand through his sweaty hair.

"I was just wondering if you take 'Baby' to bed with you every night?" Darcy asks. Eyes sparkling with glee, she quirks an eyebrow up over the top of her glasses. 

"Barton or Stark?" Steve sighs. Scratching the back of his head, he tries to will away the embarrassment of calling his shield 'baby'. It doesn't really work. 

"Stark. Son of Coul says I'm not allowed to play with the assassins after the paintball incident. So, _Baby?_ "

Steve watches her fingers slide down to slowly trace the star on his shield. His 'baby'. He imagines her fingers tracing stars over his skin and sparks lick across his skin, ricochet down his spine, before settling low in his belly.

"She's a little cold in the sack," Steve replies dryly, the corners of his mouth twitching up. Darcy startles, eyes darting up to meet his before a slow grin spreads across her cherry painted lips.

"That's a shame," Darcy says, eyes shining behind the lenses of her glasses. 

"A terrible shame," Steve agrees with a small nod. 

"You should find something a little warmer. I might have a teddy you can borrow," Darcy says as her Starkphone starts buzzing frantically in her pocket. She pulls the phone out, frowns at the screen and shoves it back. 

"Bit old to sleep with a teddy bear."

"Mhmm. I'm sure you'll find just the right thing, Goldilocks," Darcy smirks. She raps her knuckles lightly on his shield. 

He's pretty damn sure he found the right thing, but he isn't going to say that. "Maybe I could use some help," he says lowly, eyes locked onto Darcy’s. She sucks in a sharp breath, searching his eyes, and drags her teeth across her bottom lip.

"Well, maybe I can be of service.”


	32. lipstick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a post on tumblr that was about lipstick leaving a mark that...well it sort of left a little mark on my mind. I know I have a bunch of wips I should be working on but I've had a cold and this little plotbunny wouldn't leave me alone till I wrote it down.

He sees her mark everywhere. 

On the paper cup from Starbucks that holds some concoction of chocolate and peppermint syrup. On the pen he borrows from her desk as he goes into a meeting. A kiss on a cloth napkin. A smear on the corner of a file folder. 

_His_ file folder. 

Little marks on paper and cloth. Pink, peach, plum and reds he doesn’t have a name for. The color of dark winter berries and cotton candy pink.

A kiss on his cheek he can’t bear to wash off.

He rubs his fingers through the slick of red war paint. He licks his fingers, tastes the wax of the lipstick and the crystals of sugar from the pastry she had been tearing apart with her fingers. Nails painted a deeper red than the paint on her lips. 

He’s been kissed before. Starlets, chorus girls, a Parisian whore once. His mind skirts away from the kisses that mattered. The kisses that set his blood alight and his heart beating fast. A lifetime ago. 

An innocent kiss between friends. 

He still feels the ghost her nails scraping the back of his neck as her lips pressed warm on his jaw. 

He closes his eyes and imagines Darcy’s perfect lipstick smeared across her mouth from kissing her. Carmine lips trailing kisses over his heart and down his abdomen. His belly twists, heat crackles under his skin and jolts down his spine. 

He’s been kissed before. 

The red lipstick on his cheek, the slow smile that curved her lips, the flash of her tongue wetting her lips. 

Her mark on his skin. 

It’s not innocent at all.


	33. don't cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Steve being their best failboat selves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****This fic is slightly spoilery for Thor: the Dark World. So please don't read if you want to remain spoiler free.

“Sup, Cap?” Darcy says, barely looking up as she types rapidly on her laptop. It’s late in the evening but if she doesn’t get Jane’s notes finished...well, she really doesn’t want to think about the consequences. Jane may be small but she is a force to be reckoned with when she isn’t distracted by science or stacked demigods.

"I heard you had a date last night," Steve says casually as he pulls a bottle of beer out of the fridge.

"With Ian. I didn't go," Darcy says, shuffling through a stack of papers at the breakfast bar.

"Why not?"

"Because," Darcy murmurs. She keeps her eyes focused on Jane’s notes spread across the table, the open laptop screen and her favorite pen holding down a napkin with hastily scribbled notes on it.

"Care to elaborate on that?" Steve asks, sipping from his bottle. She doesn’t look up but she can feel his eyes boring into her. The pen draws her attention and she picks it up, turning it over and over between her fingers.

"Not really," Darcy frowns, twisting the cap on her pen. She should have said no when Jane accepted Stark’s offer of a shiny lab and apartments for both of them. Stark liked to keep all his favorite toys under one roof. Not that she thought of Thor and Steve as toys, despite the action figures Darcy had sitting on a shelf in her bedroom.

"He do somethin'?" Steve asks, the Captain creeping into his voice.

"No. Ian’s nice. We kissed when the whole Keebler Elves tried to destroy London thing went down. It was...nice. Just...I dunno," Darcy trails off with a shrug, dropping her pen and focusing on the work she needs to complete for Jane.

"Just what?"

Darcy rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. "He isn't you," she breathes out, voice barely above a whisper. Steve jolts, sucking in a sharp breath of air, and Darcy turns the page of Jane’s notes, fingers trembling.

God. She's ruined it. She shouldn't have said anything. Steve is miles out of her league and she’s just a lab squint in charge of a future mad scientist.

"Darce?" Steve asks softly.

Darcy shakes her head, picking up the pen again, gripping it tightly. If she grips it tight enough maybe her bones will crack and she can escape to the hospital. She focuses on the words on the page in front of her despite her swimming vision. "Don't. It’s nothing...I’m...it’s not worth it. I have to get these notes back to...back to wherever they need to go," she murmurs, blinking rapidly.

No way is she crying over a stupid crush on a superhero.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Except it’s not the icon in the suit with the fingerless gloves and the silver star on his chest. It’s Steve. With his ruffled hair and sweat pants and his terrible taste in reality TV.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” Steve says softly, setting his bottle aside and hunching down beside her at the table. He reaches out to slowly close her laptop and pull the pen from her fingers. “Talk to me.”

“It’s stupid,” Darcy says defensively, crossing her arms under her chest.

“Can’t be that stupid if you’re cryin’,” he rumbles.

“I’m not crying,” Darcy says. She tilts her chin up stubbornly and the pads of Steve’s fingers brush across her cheek bone gathering the wetness there beneath her glasses. “There must have been a twig in my eye.”

“Must’ve,” Steve says. The worry line is between his brows and Darcy wants to smooth it out as much as she wants to escape the kitchen, the tower, maybe even the city. She pulls her glasses from her face and cradles them in her lap. Steve’s so close she can smell the beer on his breath, the faint cinnamon of his skin, and the bottled sunshine smell of fabric softener on his clothes.

Darcy meets his eyes; this close together she can see tiny flecks of gold within the vibrant blue of them. It’s far too close and she struggles not to squirm. Not to vomit words all over him or run away. “It’s just a crush. It will go away.”

Steve’s hand slides down her cheek, beneath her hair to cup the back of her neck. The warmth of his hand seeps into her skin and his thumb rubs her earlobe. “What if I don’t want it to,” he says, voice low.

Darcy’s eyes flutter closed, a puff of air slipping between her parted lips. “You don’t...” she says, voice cracking.

Steve’s forehead presses against hers, and Darcy swallows the lump in her throat made by her heart. The pad of his thumb is calloused and rough as it sweeps over her skin sending shivers down her spine. Darcy breathes in deeply, pulling Steve’s scent into her lungs. His words tumble around in her head and a smile slowly spreads across her lips.


	34. No Shave November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does what it says on the tin... the Avengers decide to forgo shaving for the month of November.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> themaraudersdaughter asked for 'beardy!Steve and no-shave November' on tumblr and really how can I not write more beardy!Steve?
> 
> As always Katy is my number one enabler, beta reader, and patriotic pompom shaker.
> 
> Oh and I'm typhoidmeri on tumblr... which I should probably consider changing back to 'merideathislost' but well apparently my fics are a teensy bit infectious. Ahem.... anyway feel free to stop by and say hi.

If she were to guess, Darcy would pin the whole thing on Tony. Because...well, it’s Tony. It’s almost always Tony. The public relations team, headed by Agent Beaumont, is having a hell of a time talking the Avengers out of it. It’s Steve that admits that the men are participating in ‘No Shave November’ mostly to rile up agent Beaumont, Assistant Director Hill, and to mock the media image of the Avengers and make Fury live up to his name.

Tony often doesn’t shave when he’s in the lab for days on end, so it’s no surprise there. She tells Jane she thinks he looks like a rather dashing Pa Ingalls. Thor looks like himself just a little less perfectly groomed and all the happier for it. Bruce’s beard is nearly all grey and after that initial awkward faze he resembles her high school English teacher Mr. Sweeny. Clint normally seems to shave at random intervals, or when Natasha makes him. 

Steve on the other hand...well, Steve has Darcy more than a little flustered. He’s easy on the eyes all the time, with his bright blue eyes, Disney prince smile, wide shoulders, and itty bitty waist. Perfect and untouchable. 

Mint condition. Original packaging. 

Now though, halfway through November, she has a problem. And that problem is sitting across from her in the lounge with his sketchbook on his knee, pen poised in one hand while he thoughtfully strokes his beard. Lips are bitten red from concentrating as he sketches. Pale hair contrasting with the dark hair of his beard, grey sweater pulled tight over his chest and wide shoulders. 

Darcy squirms as her thoughts spiral out of control and she can’t remember what it was she was valiantly trying to read. The words blur out and she imagines Steve tearing the book from her hands and spreading her out on the couch cushions. 

“Darcy, did you hear me?” Steve asks in that low rasp that does nothing to tear her mind from burrowing deeper into the gutter. God, she needs help. 

“Huh?”

“I’ll take that as a no then. I said, do you want another cup of tea?” Steve says, mouth ticking up into a crooked grin. Darcy blinks and looks down at her untouched cup. 

“Oh...it’s fine,” Darcy smiles, lifting the cup and taking a sip. “Blurgh...gross.” Steve snorts and pulls the cup from her hands and heads for the bar across the room. Darcy curses whoever taught Steve to dress in modern jeans that mould to him like a second skin. Rolling her eyes at herself, Darcy flips back seven pages in her book until something sparks as vaguely familiar.

“Good book I take it?” he asks minutes later as he sets the mugs down on the coffee table between his couch and the plush chair Darcy is curled up in. Whorls of steam rise from the mugs—Steve’s dark blue with a single star, and hers the shape of a fat bellied white owl. 

“Yeah, it’s good. Thanks for the tea,” she replies, hoping that if she keeps her answers short she won’t babble. There is a real danger of babbling when his eyes sparkle with amusement as he settles back on the couch, idly pulling up the arm of his sweater to scratch his nails over his forearm. 

Tearing her eyes away from Steve she takes a cautious sip of her tea. It’s far too hot to drink but the cup fits in her hands, warming them as she breathes in the steam. Steve shifts on the couch, reaching for the pencil case on the table beside his mug. The tip of his tongue slips between his lips wetting them as he chooses a pencil and Darcy mug tilts, tea splashing onto the open pages of her book. “Damn it.”

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah I’m just an idiot who is easily distracted by...shiny things,” Darcy says, setting the mug down on the table. Steve eyebrows tick up and he pulls a cotton handkerchief out of his pocket and reaches across the table with it. “Thanks,” Darcy murmurs. Their fingers graze together as she pulls the handkerchief from his hand. Bright white cotton trimmed in red and blue stars. She can’t help but arch her brows in amusement. “Really, Steve?”

“It was a gift,” Steve says with a wry twist of his lips as he settles back amongst the cushions. He drags the pencil across the open page of his sketch book. Mopping up the last of the spilled tea Darcy flicks her eyes over the page of her book, internally groaning as she turns the page to find the protagonist and the antagonist’s battle of wills collapsing as they fall into bed together. Not something she should be reading when her mind is already fixated on thoughts of Steve’s beard tickling against her thighs. No, no, no. 

There was probably a special circle of hell for illicit thoughts about bearded superheroes. 

Steve scratches at his beard with his free hand and Darcy sinks lower in her chair. “Fuck me,” she mutters under her breath. The pencil snaps and Steve drags his eyes up from his sketch to meet hers. “Oh god.” Darcy’s cheeks burn under the intensity of his gaze and she waves the book at him. “It’s a really good book.”

Steve’s brow quirks up and he leans forward plucking the book from her hand. It a vintage romance, and Steve examines the art on the cover; a blonde man with a beard clutching a dark haired woman dressed in little more than rags. “The hero is very um...heroic and beardy? It’s sexy,” Darcy says. Her eyes widen as Steve turns the book around to skim over the back. The pink lettering of the title catches her eye, _‘The Captain’s Mistress’_ and Darcy squirms into her seat.

“Heroic and beardy?” Steve asks, a grin slowly spreading across his beard covered face. There isn’t a drop of Disney to this grin. It’s dark and dirty and sends a jolt of heat skittering down her spine.


	35. Shouldn't part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inkandash asked for more of the Shouldn't verse...It just took me awhile to find the plotbunny again.
> 
>  
> 
> [part one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/1398544)
> 
>  
> 
> [part two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/1656845)

“You gonna buck up and go talk to Steve or are you going sit there feeling sorry for yourself?”

“I’m sorry?” Darcy said, looking up from the file in her hands as she waited for the elevator to take her up down to R&D.

“You heard me, Lewis,” Bucky nodded and pressed the already lit call button.

Darcy pursed her lips, “I have nothing to say to Captain Rogers that hasn’t already been said. I disobeyed a direct order and I now I have to suffer desk duty and chasing after paperwork.” It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

The fingers of Bucky’s artificial hand tapped on the metal surface of the elevator doors. “Whatever you say, kid,” he said as the elevator pinged. The doors slid open, and two agents stepped out past Darcy, leaving Steve leaning along the back wall of the compartment. “Speak of the devil,” Bucky snorted.

Darcy froze mid step and Bucky put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her into the elevator. “Watch it, Barnes,” Darcy snarled.

“Good luck, punk,” Bucky called out cheerfully as the doors closed behind her. Steve straightened up, jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching, eyes flicking over her. Darcy’s skin itched. She worried at her bottom lip and ran her fingers over the edge of the manila folder in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said at the same time Steve said “Darcy.” She winced and failed to raise her eyes above Steve’s jaw line.

“You go first,” Steve said. He shifted to lean back against the wall, and Darcy fought the instinct to press the button for the next floor and escape. 

“I’m sorry everything is so....so,” Darcy said waving her hand about in a vague circle.

“Fucked up?”

“...between us,” Darcy nodded and barreled on. “I didn’t know what to do. You kissed me and I kissed you back and I wanted to but we shouldn’t have. You have a girlfriend,” Darcy said, eyes fixed on Steve’s chin. If she looked at his mouth she knew she’d lose it. What it is she would lose she didn’t know; probably the little bit of sanity she had left to her after joining S.H.I.E.L.D.

_“Had.”_

“I don’t want to be that girl that Captain America had an affair with.”

“M’not with anyone, Darcy. The shield is just the day job. It isn’t who I am and it doesn’t dictate what I want.”

“It was all adrenaline and anger....and...and...”

“And nothing. I kissed you and you kissed me back,” Steve said low. He brought his hand up curl under her jaw and lifted her chin up. “Look at me, Darcy. Whatever it is that you think is in the way, I promise it isn’t there. I want you. It’s as simple as that.”

“Nothing is ever as simple as that,” Darcy said, meeting his eyes.

"It is,” he said. “Have dinner with me tonight and we can talk.”

“I...”

“Please,” Steve said, voice rough and achingly sincere as he searched her eyes. A shiver ran down Darcy’s spine and butterflies swirled in her belly. 

“Dinner,” Darcy agreed.

Steve’s mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. He leaned into her and her breath caught. “And after dinner m'gonna kiss you again,” he rumbled quietly. The elevator pinged and Steve swiped his thumb over Darcy’s bottom lip. “Tonight.”


	36. Roswell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roswell AU. Darcy and Jane are waitresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my muse is being mean and refusing to let me work on any of my WIPs I asked for prompts to write a three sentence AU fic. Lostdaemon requested a 'Darcy/Steve...Roswell'. So this is what you get. 
> 
> I have a lot of Jane feels right now and I had to have Darcy and Jane as best friends.

_It's November eleventh, journal entry one, I'm Darcy Lewis and five days ago I died. After that things got really weird._

....

“Steve Rogers is staring at you again.”

“No way, Jane, you’re out of your mind,” Darcy says, eyes scanning over the restaurant to Steve’s table. James sat next to him, fingers of his left hand nervously tapping on the melamine table.

Steve’s peeling the label off a bottle of hot sauce, mouth turned down, and a line between his eyebrows. He doesn’t look happy.  Steve’s eyes flick up to hers and the corner of his mouth ticks up. Darcy drops her gaze, cheeks hot as she busies herself with the salt shakers on the counter. “You’re totes imagining things.”

“He was.”

“Well I do rock the alien antennae and glasses,” Darcy says tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and checking that her antennae are firmly in place.

“I didn’t say he was looking at your face,” Jane smirks handing Darcy an order of Saturn’s Rings, a Betelgeuse Burger, Quantum Field Fries, and a Martian Melt. “Table four, please.”

“This isn’t my order. Table four’s your section,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Balls, that’s Rogers’ table. No, Jane.”

“I’m on break,” Jane says, waving her physics book under Darcy’s nose.

“I hate you,” Darcy hisses.

“You love me,” Jane mutters, opening her book. Darcy takes a deep breath to collect herself and plasters a smile on her face as she makes her way to Steve Roger’s table.


	37. Roswell part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you are all rotten enabling enablers who enable. 
> 
> Also my muse, now named Sybil (because reasons), decided to focus on this little AU verse as a way of distracting me from how terrible this week has been. 
> 
> Warning: there is blood in this, if you watched Roswell then you know what happens in the rest of the diner scene.

“...C’mon, Steve, are you gonna be a pussy all your life or are you gonna--,” Bucky says, words choking off at the vicious kick Steve sends him under the table.  

“Bucky,” Steve hisses. She’s almost ninety-four percent certain he’s blushing the smallest bit as his eyes flick over to her. Maybe ninety-seven.

“What the fu...oh...hey, Lewis,” James says. He leans back into his seat shooting Steve a smug smirk.

“Hey James, Steve,” Darcy says, placing their order out on the table between them. She doesn’t ask whose order is whose, Steve always orders the Betelgeuse Burger. Not that she took note or anything. It was just, you know, her job.  “Can I get you anything else now that Jane has abandoned her station to have a torrid affair with astrophysics?”

“Hi, Darcy, we’re good,” Steve says.

“Speak for yourself, punk. More hot sauce,” James says, lifting up the bottle with one hand and swiping one of Steve’s fries with the other. Steve bats his hand away with a scowl and pulls the basket of fries out of James’ reach.

Darcy struggles to keep her face straight, catches her lip between her teeth. Steve grins crookedly up at her, blue eyes sparking with humour and Darcy’s belly flips, and her face growing warm. “Um, yeah, right, hot sauce coming up,” she says.  Spinning on her heel she hugs the serving tray to her chest and marches off to the service station. She can feel Steve's eyes on her the whole time. 

 

......

  
  


“You don’t need money if you’re dead,” shouts a heavyset man in a plaid shirt and a denim jacket. The man pulls a gun out of his pocket and Darcy’s heart leaps into her throat.

“Oh god,” Darcy says. The man and another man fight over the gun and it goes off. The shot is loud in the diner, louder than the blood pounding in her ears. Pain rips through her belly, blood blooms on her uniform as she falls to the floor. Dad’s gonna be so mad.

“Darcy,” Jane cries from the other side of the counter.

“What are you doing,” James hisses, catching Steve’s arm as he rounds the counter.

“Let go of me, Buck,” Steve snaps, jerking his arm away. Darcy presses her hand over her belly, the fabric of her uniform sticky with blood.

“What are you gonna do?” James says.

Steve ignores him, dropping down on his knees beside Darcy, hands hovering over her. “Darcy?”

“It hurts,” she says, eyes fluttering closed.

"It’s gonna be okay, Darcy. Darcy, look at me,” Steve says pulling at the buttons of her uniform. It jars the wound in her belly and she cries out. “Shh, it’s going to be okay.” Steve’s palm covers the bullet hole, pressing down into her skin, fingers slipping on blood. Darcy gasps, pain radiating out from the bullet hole. Her eyes meet Steve’s and she cannot breathe.

Steve’s hand is hot on her skin. It burns.

Memories play behind her eyes, children on the playground. A girl in purple converse shoes, orange socks and a bright yellow sundress. It’s her but not seen from her eyes.   She remembers the dress and her favourite shoes, and she remembers a boy in a blue t-shirt with a silver star, worried blue eyes and messy blonde hair.

“Keys now,” James says.

Steve pulls the keys from his pocket, doesn’t take his eyes from Darcy as he tosses them at Bucky without looking. “You’re okay now, Darce.” He reaches up grabbing a bottle of ketchup and smashing it against the shelf.  The ketchup is cold on her skin as he pours it over her.  “Don’t say anything,” he murmurs, dropping the bottle onto the floor.

“Darcy, oh my god, Darcy are you okay?” Jane says pushing past Steve.

“Yeah, m’okay, Jane. Just hit my head when I fell,” Darcy says, sitting up gingerly. Steve’s gone before she finishes her sentence.

“Oh god you’re bleeding,” Jane cries, hands waving helplessly.

“Chill, Jane, it’s not blood it’s just ketchup,” Darcy says, jutting her chin out towards the broken bottle from the floor. “I broke it when I fell. I’m fine really.” She pulls her apron up rubbing at the red stains on her green uniform. Brushing her fingers over her head she pulls off the antennae, dropping them beside the broken ketchup bottle. “Really I’m fine, Jane.”

“Oh thank god,” Jane sobs, throwing herself into Darcy arms.

“Jane, I need air.”

“Shut up, Darcy.”

“Okay.”

....

Later, after the police have gone and her dad has finally stopped fussing, Darcy locks herself in her room. There is a bullet hole in her uniform, and dried blood on her skin. Smooth perfect skin with a handprint that shines silver in the light. Steve’s handprint. She covers the handprint with her hand. She doesn’t feel any different than before.

“Who are you Steve Rogers,” she asks her mirror. The mirror gives no answers. 


	38. Rooster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes she really wishes she never took Coulson's job offer. Other times though...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes my muse, Sybil, gets funny ideas. And then I make crappy graphics on my phone and ridiculous fics to go with them... also written on my phone if I have missed any autocorrected words.

"Holy fucktrumpets, Captain," Darcy says eyes wide. "That’s a huge c—"

"Don’t say it, Lewis," Steve says rolling his shoulders back and gripping his shield tight.

"Seriously you are no fun old man. You have to admit that is one really big c…hicken," Darcy says. They wince in tandem as said giant poultry scratches at the ground, sending a police car and an SUV into an empty Starbucks. "Now what?"

Steve glances around, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “Over there.” He nods toward a tiny gas station near the edge of town.

"What? Now is not the time for a slurpee and some beef jerky, Captain."

"Winner winner chicken dinner?" Steve says adjusting the hold on his shield. He keeps a sharp eye on the path of the giant chicken as Iron Man circles over their heads.

Darcy shakes her head, “No, absolutely not. Hill said minimal property destruction. Minimal.”

"No other option here and Hill never said anything about a giant robot chicken," Steve says reaching up to activate his com to speak into the com. "Stark I need you to lure the…chicken south east of my position."

"I’m having JARVIS take away the Food Network," Darcy mutters at his retreating back. Steve glances back at her, flashes a grin that is nothing like his poster boy smile. "Jackass."

…

In the aftermath Darcy is left to chase the team down to a small silver diner on the opposite end of town. Untouched by time and large poultry Terminators.

"No I am not having the chicken fried steak, Mr. Stark," Darcy says primly or as primly as she can while covered in dirt and grime. There is a vaguely egg shaped stain on her blouse and the right sleeve of her jacket is singed.

"The cheeseburger’s good. Fries too," Steve says with a crooked smile, ketchup on the corner of his mouth. He pushes a basket of fries in front of the empty stool between him and agents Barton and Romanoff.

"Live a little, Lewis," Stark says between bites of an obscenely large chicken sandwich.

"You guys are gonna get me fired. I’m going to end up filing hard copy in the archives. There’s no wifi there," Darcy says.

She sits down despite her better judgement, really how many times do you get invited to an after battle meal with the avengers anyway? Helping herself to one of Steve’s fries she looks over the chalkboard menu and listens to Stark and Dr Banner’s science babble. Agents Romanoff and Barton say nothing at all as they move with an eerie synchronicity switching food items between their plates.

The cracked red leather of Steve’s seat creaks, and his knee brushes against her leg. Butterflies swirl in her belly. Darcy steals a sip of his chocolate shake to buy the time to gather her scattered thoughts together.

"Just because you’re sharing your fries doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about your addiction to the Food Network," Darcy says quietly, twisting the straw between her fingers. She absolutely does not think about how many rules she is breaking at this moment.

"What if I bought you a slice of pie," Steve asks. He pulls the shake from her hand, the rough pads of his fingers grazing against hers.

"A SHIELD agent cannot be bribed," she says lifting her chin. Darcy can’t keep the smile from ghosting across her lips.

"À la Mode," Steve adds with a slow smirk. 

"Deal,” she says though she isn’t sure if she fell for Steve’s smirk or the promise of ice cream. Steve’s smirk turns into a full grin, eyes crinkling and lips stretched wide. Yeah, totally the smile.


	39. Zombie AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy meets three survivors in a world gone to hell in a Strawberry Shortcake bike basket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the graphic awhile ago then my muse, Sybil got distracted by something shiny so I never finished writing the ficlet until this morning.

Puente Antiguo was dead before the world became over run with a plague of the dead that forgot to lie down and feed the trees. The town never recovered from the battle with the destroyer and when Loki turned Earth into Hel. It was the place Darcy chose as refuge.

“What do you want?” Darcy says gripping her weapons as steady as she can despite the ache in her arms and fear crawling up her spine. It would be so much easier if they were dead already. The woman with the red hair and the man in the mask share a look. The man shrugs; metal arm glinting in the sun and the woman arches an elegant brow. Both look towards the man with the dull metal shield on his arm.

“We aren’t looking to cause any trouble. We’re looking for Dr Jane Foster. This is one of the last known locations for her,” the man with the shield says.

Darcy flinches, “She’s gone.” Her heart clenches and she blinks back unwanted tears.

“Dead,” says the man in the mask, and the one with the shield and dirty looking beard shoulders droop. The woman’s expression never changes and it’s more than a little terrifying.  
“Didn’t say she was dead, I said she was gone. There’s a difference.” _Just not much of one anymore_ , she doesn’t add as she lowers her weapons a fraction.

“Do you know where we can find her? It’s important,” says the woman. 

“Thor took her over the rainbow road, didn’t even leave me with a 1up,” Darcy says.

The woman smiles, it’s warm and reassuring, and Darcy wants to believe it. Believe that there is some good left in the world, but too much has happened. These people, standing in the middle of the street are far too at ease with guns pointed at them. The tension shifts and Darcy feels trapped, a mouse cornered by three purring farm cats. She gets it then, that if they wanted her dead she would be already and not one of them would have to use a weapon of any sort.

Darcy sighs, thumbs the safeties on, fitting the weapons back into her holsters, and thinks about a time when the most dangerous thing she ever shot was a taser or a first person shooter game. “Jane went with Thor in a flash of light and color. I guess she’s in Asgard now. Thor saved her and left the rest of us to die.” _Left me to die._

“What about her equipment and research?”

“Who are you?”

“Steve,” says the man in the beard. He nods his head towards the woman. “Natasha and the one in the creepy mask is…James.”

“Fuck you,” mutters the man in the mask, James. There is no heat in his words though and James reaches up and pulls the mask away from the lower half of his face and gives Darcy a quick smile. Darcy smiles back out of reflex and it feels odd. She glances away at the same time Natasha turns. The woman is wearing an S.H.I.E.L.D. patch on the shoulder of her suit. Darcy flicks her eyes back to the man with the shield. The shield has flecks of blue and red paint, and what might be considered a star.

“How stupid do you think I am?”

"Pardon?" Steve says, the tone is polite but his eyes bore into hers.

"Red’s wearing a S.H.I.E.L.D. merit badge, and who carries a trash can lid around? Who are you really?”

“Yeah who does that Steve,” James says dryly.

Steve snorts and shakes his head. His teeth flashing white as he smiles, blue eyes flashing with humour as he lowers his arms from their defensive position. It’s a nice smile, Darcy thinks even in a dirty face. “I used to be Captain America,” Steve rumbles. Darcy glances at Natasha who lifts one shoulder and James who rolls his eyes.

“Still are punk,” James says.

Glass breaks and the Captain and his companions move as one turning towards the sound. Towards the danger. At the end of the street a blood covered hand scrapes against the side of a bus blocking the way. The bones are visible from the torn flesh grey of the hand and the thing makes no sound at all as it claws at the air. Damn.

“I don’t know about you but I think it’s time to make like a hockey player…,” Darcy says stepping closer. The men glance back at her and Darcy pokes her thumb in the opposite direction. “You know…get the puck out of here.” Steve shifts the shield from his arm to his hand. “Come on. There’s never just one,” Darcy says turning on her heel and scrambling over the hood of a crumpled Prius. She doesn’t look back but hears the chink of metal hitting metal, a duller sound of metal hitting something she’d rather not think about.

“Where we headed, sweetheart,” James says and Darcy tries not to jump out of her skin.

“Somewhere safe,” Darcy says glancing back to see Steve jump over the car with hardly any effort at all.

“Nowhere is safe since Loki,” Natasha says.

“Somewhere safer than here,” Darcy says. Her belly twists at the thought of letting them into her refuge. But there is nowhere else to go.

“Lead the way,” Steve says scanning the abandoned shops lining the street.


	40. probationary agent Lewis (Darcy & Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sybil, my muse is not being helpful at all today. Words aren't really flowing but I have been tweaking a few things here and there and dug up this little 'meet cute' which was rough, so I polished it up a bit and I'm posting it here as it really doesn't fit anywhere else and it would be a shame to delete it completely.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your pulverising of innocent punching bags, Captain Rogers, but I need your palm-print and a retinal scan, so you can accept this file,” Darcy says as she stands leaning against the open door of the gym. She wrinkles at the smell of old sweat, mildew and deep heat fills her lungs. Nice.

“Excuse me, Agent,” Steve asks as he places his hands on the punching bag to stop it swinging.

“Probationary Agent Lewis, sir,” Darcy replies with a half assed salute, with the wrong hand and a twisting of her mouth into a too sharp smile.

“Aren’t you a little bit...green to be an agent?”

Darcy’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits, “Aren’t you a little bit of an ass to be an American Treasure?”

“Probably,” Captain Rogers says with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders.

“What can I say? I sacrifice the blood of the lab interns in the light of the silvery moon. It’s pretty much all in the word probationary. I get the glory of running around to dingy gyms in search of elusive superheroes to hand over paperwork. I’m Sitwell’s dancing monkey.”

“I’ll try to find a better hiding spot next time,” he says the corner of his mouth quirks up into the ghost of a smile.

“You do that,” Darcy says lifting up the tablet in her hands. “Hand and eye scan please, Captain Rogers, and I will be out of your sweaty hair in a jiffy. I have scientists to put to bed and it’s getting rather late for story time.”

“If you say so, ma’am,” Steve says. His smile widens and reaches his eyes.

“I do.”

“What happened to Agent Winslow,” Captain Rogers asks as he unravels the tape from his hands.

“Remember that thing last week with the googly eyed monster with acne,” Darcy asks holding out the tablet in her hands.

“It ate him?”

“Not so much ate him, as gummed him a little bit,” Darcy says as Rogers places his palm across the tablet’s screen. “Turns out Agent Winslow is allergic to monsters that are in need of a heavy dose of Clearasil. The saliva gave him hives and some wicked bad hallucinations. He’s gone to the farm.”

Steve’s eyes bore into hers, “He died?”

“What? Oh God no, he went to visit his folks, they own a farm. You know with cows and chickens, and little baby ducks.”

“That’s a relief, Winslow's a good agent,” Steve nods after a pause.

“Winslow's a good shot, can bullshit on a level with Coulson but he has a black thumb when it comes to tech, and he can't fill out a form to save his bacon. Eyeball now,” Darcy says lifting the tablet. Steve held still while the small camera scanned his eye and let out a cheerful beep. “File’s all yours now. Have fun beating the crap out of your bag, Captain,” Darcy says with a wink.

“Thanks I think, and please call me Steve.”

“Like I said, have fun beating the crap out of your bag, Captain,” she says spinning round on her heel. Steve lets out a slow breath behind her. She reaches the door, glances back over her shoulder.

Captain Rogers’ eyes meet hers a bemused smirk on his lips, “Nice meeting you, Agent Lewis.”


	41. Colorado Red (Darcy/Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the prompt 'Steve/Darcy Mechanic AU' it was meant to be three teeny tiny sentences. Ahem.

Rogers’ Auto Body & Paint

 

“1964 Austin Healey. Colorado red. Nice,” a man in a faded grey t-shirt, navy blue overalls stained with oil and grease, with a small white patch with red lettering spelling out ‘Steve’.

 

“Thanks,” Darcy says shoving her hands into the back pockets of her shorts. The movement turns Steve’s head from admiring the lines of her car to rake over Darcy. She’s pretty sure the temperature outside just raised by another ten degrees.

 

Steve’s blonde hair  is sticking up at odd angles, smears of grease  on his stubbled jaw and temple keep him from being too perfect. Or maybe it doesn’t help at all.

 

His mouth quirks up in a lazy smirk, and  he pulls a yellow rag from his back pocket and rubs the grease from his hands. Arousal shoots down her spine and settles low in her belly. ”What can I do for you today, Miss?”

 

 _A lot of things_ , Darcy thinks. And hopes the heat of the day hides the blush warming her cheeks. "Eleanor’s making a sorta….. clunky juddery noise,” Darcy says jerking her thumb back at the car.

 

“Clunky juddery,” Steve  asks, his left eyebrow arching up towards his hairline. That should not be as attractive as it is.

  
“Uh, yeah,” she says. There is probably more wrong with the car than that. It sat in my grandpa’s garage for years before his passing, but the only thing Darcy knows about cars is to change the oil and put in gas.


	42. Roswell part III (Steve/Darcy, Natasha & Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted 'Darcy/Steve high school AU' and this little fusion verse is the only one that popped into my head. And now I must go watch more Roswell. 
> 
> [part I](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/2077257) and [part II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/2087781)
> 
> Thanks go to Katy for being a star and beta'ing all three parts of the verse for me.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” Jane accuses the next day in the hall.

“My head still hurt when I got upstairs, so I took some aspirin and went to bed early.”

“You’re lying. It’s something to do with Steve Rogers.”

“Excuse me for being tired from being freaked out by people shooting off guns in the diner,” Darcy says. She turns away from Jane to shove her History book into the locker and pull out a textbook and a dog-eared paperback. She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to put off her best friend. Jane was tenacious. She hugs the book to her chest and gives a halfhearted smile. “You better get to class before Mr. Banner gets his rage on. Science waits for no woman.”

“Darcy, we’re not done here,” Jane shouts, but Darcy’s already threading her way through the hall towards purgatory: Mr. Wilson’s English class.

The bell rings as she slips into her seat and Darcy’s eyes dart around the classroom while she digs into the bottom of her backpack for her pen. Steve Rogers is sitting diagonally across from her doodling in the margins of his spiral bound notebook. She can’t see what he’s drawing from her seat, and she is almost tempted to lean over. Steve leans back and flicks his gaze over to Darcy and a little jolt of electricity sparks down her spine as their eyes meet. Darcy swallows hard, takes a steadying breath and  tears her eyes away. Mr. Wilson arrives late, dragging an ancient TV with him. He slams a hardcover book on the desk making everyone but Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff jump in their seats.

Natasha sits in the front row flanked on either side by Maria and Bobbi. Her hair is perfect. Smooth and glossy. A red to make men weep and fall to her knees. Natasha is smart, beautiful, and popular. She is also Steve’s sister.

Darcy pays little attention to the movie and focuses on the puzzle that is Steve Rogers. Twice she stops herself from pressing her hand to her belly. The handprint is still on her skin despite two showers. The bell rings and Darcy shoves her books into her bag, watching as everyone files out of the room.  Steve’s at the front of the classroom talking with Natasha in hushed tones.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Steve,” Darcy  calls out before she loses the nerve altogether.

Natasha levels Darcy with a stare that sends fingers of ice skittering down her spine.

“Hey, Darcy, sure,” Steve says, offering up a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes.  

“Steve,” Natasha says, eyebrows rising up.

“I’ll see you at home, Tasha,” he says, lips pressed together in a tight line. Natasha looks from Steve to Darcy, turns on a slender boot heel and stalks out of the door, red hair swishing back and forth. The door clicks shut, muffled sounds of kids in the hall filters through the door. It’s the first time she has ever been alone with him. Part of Darcy wants to run but the rest of her wants answers. She’s probably been hanging out with Jane for too long.

“Sisters,” Steve says to fill the silence between them. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and bounces on his toes.   _He wants to run too_ , she thinks.

“I wouldn’t know,” she says with a shrug. Darcy only has her dad, ever since her mom got the hell out of Roswell when she was six. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine.” He offers up a small smile, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “What did you want to talk about?”

Taking a deep breath Darcy lifts the hem of her t-shirt.

“Um,” Steve says.

“So help me out here, Rogers, what is going on? What are you? Because I’ve watched a lot of bad fantasy movies and this is….I don’t know what this is. What is this,” Darcy barks out a half hysterical laugh and yanks her t-shirt back down.

“I’m...I’m not from around here,” Steve says solemnly.

“So where are you from?” Darcy asks, and Steve takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and points up.

“ So what you’re from up north? You’re Canadian,” Darcy asks. Which is kinda weird as Steve couldn’t be more of the all-American poster boy if he tried.

Steve shakes his head no, still pointing up. Darcy raises her eyes from Steve’s hand to the water stained tiles on the ceiling.

“There is nothing up there unless you’re an alien and you can’t be an alien because you are a sixteen year old kid in high school. You’ve been watching too many X-Files reruns,”  she says, not sure who she is trying to convince. “You are not an alien.”

“I prefer the term ‘not of this earth’. It has a better ring to it don’t you think?”

“That’s not funny, Rogers.”

“It’s a little funny,” Steve says, tugging on the strap of his backpack.

“I think...I think I’m going to be late for... the rest of my life. So I’ve gotta go.” She steps backwards towards the door and the metal of the door knob is cold in the palm of her hand.

“You can’t say anything,” Steve says, reaching out to her. His fingers graze her arm sending a jolt of electricity down her spine to settle low in her belly.  “Please.”

“I won’t,” Darcy says meeting his eyes. They’re so close now she can see flecks of gold in the blue of his eyes, feel his breath tickling against her face and the warmth of his body seeping into her.

“Not to your dad. Not to Jane.”

“I promise,” she breathes out, leaning heavily against the door. Steve’s gaze drops to her mouth, and Darcy’s brain stutters to a stop.  

“It’s in your hands,” he says, taking a step back and avoiding her eyes.

“What is?”

“My life.”


	43. we use the weapons we have (Peggy Carter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awhile ago on tumblr someone has posted how they would love a story that had all the Marvel Ladies wearing/putting on lipstick. I was inspired to write this little drabble. It's the first time I've written Peggy and I may have given myself the sads. 
> 
> I'm going to go write something happy... or just go watch a movie now and slowly sip the coffee that sits beside me.

The metal tube of lipstick twists in her hand and with a practiced flick, the powder compact opens in her palm. 

Lipstick is scarce in the war, but it is one of the few perks to working for the SSR. The lipstick glides in a thick layer on her parted lips. Red and waxy. It is not the color of blood, but the red of poppies and Christmas. 

The color of paint on a round shield. 

For a moment, Peggy imagines the weight of it dragging her down. She presses her lips together and smiles at her reflection. The smile is sharp-edged and brittle, fading before it reaches her eyes. Her mouth a red slash against the pale of her skin. A wound that refuses to heal. 

There will be no tears today. 

There are no more tears left to shed.


	44. hallways (Darcy/Steve, Steve & Natasha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little ficlet was inspired by the trailers for Captain America: the Winter Soldier and an over excited and utterly ridiculous conversation with Katertots. I honestly don't know what I would do without her, though I'm pretty sure by now you are all sick to death of my love letters to Katertots in my notes. she is that awesome though and she manages to beat my words into shape and figure out what the hell I mean to say when my muse Sybil runs riot.

“Damn right,” Steve says. He slams the shield over the mag restraint on his wrist, watches it fall to the body-strewn floor. The elevator pings loudly over the sound of ragged breathing and Steve tenses ready for the next fight, eyes tracking over the orange glow of the down arrow. The doors slide back to reveal Probationary Agent Lewis standing in the doorway, face pale, eyes wide behind the thick frames of her glasses, a tablet held tight to her chest with her left hand, the right curled around the grip of her sidearm. "Going down?"

"If you want me to, Commander," Darcy replies, pink-painted lips curving up in a smirk.

Steve winces and internally curses himself. "I didn't mean—"

An alarm sounds, cutting off his words mid-sentence, and emergency lights flash down the hall.

"Rain check. C'mon, we need to get the hell outta here."

“Yeah,” he says non-committally.

He’s only met her a few times, but he remembers her name. Probably more than that if he was being honest with himself. She’d been quiet then; now, though, there is a stream of babble slipping from her lips as they navigate the warren of hallways. Her fingers fly across the tablet as they slip down another hallway—this one blissfully empty of all but one flustered looking analyst running down the hall with an armful of files.

“This way,” Darcy says, frowning down at her tablet and scurrying off down another small corridor, one he can’t recall ever walking down before. At the end of the hall is a small alcove with an abstract sculpture of the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem.

“Agent Lewis, where do you think—”

“Shh! I’m working here,” Darcy says impatiently, reaching her hand up to press her fingers to his lips briefly. “I can’t see it.”

“See what?” He takes a closer look around the alcove then peaks back around the corner into the hall. The hall is empty. Far too empty for what he has just done.

“Got it. Hold this a minute,” she says, shoving the tablet into his chest. The screen shows a blueprint of the floor they are currently on and the small alcove they’re hiding in.

She rifles through the pockets of her blazer and brandishes a silver pen. “Huzzah!” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up questioningly, but he says nothing. The pen turns out to be a small screwdriver that Darcy uses to pry open a hidden panel on the wall. Beneath the panel is a small hidden keypad. Darcy turns the tablet around in his hands and flicks through apps. A photo of a paper document appears on the screen with a small string of numbers on it. “Please Thor work,” she whispers punching in a code.

Nothing happens.

“Lewis, I need to get out of here before you end up in the middle of this mess.”

“You bastard,” Darcy hisses and Steve clears his throat. “Oh, not you.” Darcy rolls her eyes and slaps her hand on the star over his chest. “Ow! Fuck, that hurt.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, not sure why he is bothering to apologize when she hit him. Nor is he entirely certain why he followed a pretty girl down a maze of hallways.

“No you’re not,” Darcy says dryly, digging into the casement of the keypad.

“What are we doing here?” Steve asks as Darcy fiddles with a tangle of wires.

“We’re escaping...well, not we. You.”

“Why are you helping me?”

Darcy shrugs. “Because Agent Romanoff.” She digs through her pockets again, producing a little pocket knife, and she uses it to deftly cut and strip a wire before twisting them together. Sparks spit out from the keypad and a corner of her mouth kicks up. “That was supposed to happen.”

Whatever he was going to say next fades away as a panel behind the sculpture slides open, revealing a set of dimly lit stairs spiraling down into the dark. Darcy whirls around and throws her arms around his shoulders. He awkwardly hugs her back with the tablet still in his hand.

“Tell me I’m awesome,” she demands, tilting her face up to his.

“You’re awesome,” Steve says. He doesn’t know what else to say, really. He drags in a breath of air and the scent of her perfume fills his lungs. It reminds him of spring rain: fresh and clean, and warmed by her skin.

“Better go, Commander,” Darcy says, easing back down on her heels. She takes a half step back, sighs, and surges back up onto her toes, kissing the corner of his mouth, lips soft and warm on his. It's light, just a taste. Steve's hand settles on her hip and he kisses her back. He shouldn't, God knows he shouldn't tempt fate like this. But the temptation is too great. Darcy's mouth opens beneath his, an invitation he takes despite every urge to stop and think. His tongue slides against hers and he can taste peppermint and coffee.

“I’ve got to go,” he says, his lips hovering over hers.

Darcy pulls back, cheeks stained pink and a soft smile spreading across his lips. "Don't do anything stupid.”

 _He’s pretty damn sure he already has._  
....

 

"When this is over. She'd be good for you," Natasha says. Steve’s jaw clenches and his shoulders tense.

"Let it go," he mutters, letting as much tension drain from his body as he can.

  
They are still on the run, stuck in a small hotel room, and he has too much on his mind to rest, to do anything but pace back and forth and wait. He hates waiting.

"She’s very pretty," Natasha says with the faintest twitch of her eyebrow.

_"Tasha."_

He should have known better than to say anything when Natasha remarked on the faint smear of lipstick lingering on the corner of his mouth. The memory of the kiss floods his mind when his eyes close. It’s better than the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours. He shakes the thought away and folds himself into the chair beside the bed.

"Probationary Agent Lewis has potential: decent hand-to-hand, excellent IT skills, wields a taser. She needs advance weapons training and one-on-one. I'm sure you could help her with that, Steve."

"Natasha,” Steve warns.

Silence fills the space between them.

  
"I think you could benefit from Darcy handling your weapon," Natasha says after a beat, mouth curving up in the faintest of smiles, eyes flickering with amusement.

  
"I think you've been spending too much time with Barton."

"Are you going to ask her out when the dust settles?"

Steve rubs his hands over his face and sighs. "If I say yes will you drop the subject?"

"Yes."

"Then yes. If I'm still alive at the end of this, I'll ask Darcy out to dinner.”

He doesn't think about the last time he kissed a woman and ran out to save the world.

"Good," she says, offering him a fleeting smile.


	45. change your stars (Maria Hill)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received a prompt on tumblr for 'Maria/Steve medieval AU'. It's not a ship I sail but I do love Maria and this is the little thing that I finally wrote down. Words have been difficult for me but I'm pleased with the flow of this even if nobody else reads it. There may have been a little bleed through of style from the fairytales in [into the woods](http://archiveofourown.org/series/69822) and a look around at [100 fairytales](http://100-fairytales.livejournal.com/764.html). 'The blood that testified to the truth' was one of the table prompts which wormed into my brain though there are a lot of lovely prompts on that table that I wouldn't mind visiting again. 
> 
> I'm off to work on some more of the next story in the [rush verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/43122) and chapter three of [and you know you're going to fall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1090920) because Sybil (my muse) won't let me focus on any one things for too long. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last story in this random collection. It means the world to me that you all took the time to comment.

A woman’s life is marked in blood. Birth and moon and death.

 

In the summer of her ninth year Maria buries her name at her mother’s grave. With her father’s knife cuts the braids from her head, dons breeches and tunic, and finds a place among  Sir Nicholas’ squires.

 

She does not fool the other squires, Stephen and James. Fists and honey cakes are enough to silence their tongues. Stephen writes Sir Nicholas’ letters, who uses ink and words as weapons a much as  sword and lance. And James with his crooked smile, roving eye and sharp bladed knives.

 

Her heart does not flutter at Stephen’s soft smiles.

 

Maria lifts her chin and rushes to move faster than them.

 

Practice with a blunted blade in the moon’s pale light, until dawn is breaking.

  
There are scars on her hands and callouses on her heart.


	46. cold hands (Darcy/Steve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's hands are cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely ridiculous. I lay the blame for this ficlet at Katertots' feet (its okay because blame _is_ love). Or possibly the head cold I have had the last few days.
> 
> This ficlet started out as a few lines of dialogue that I wrote to amuse Katertots on a bleak day. I forgot about until I was serching for something the other day found the note on my phone. My muse Sybil decided to fluff it out to post. It's words and I'm not going to knock it at all. Hopefully you smile at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. 
> 
> Thanks go to ladysarah for the quick beta.

"My hands are cold. Let me put them in your pants,"Darcy says as she stalks into the communal kitchen rubbing her hands together to get her circulation going.

 

Steve turns from where he's leaning against the breakfast bar reading the paper and sipping from a  #1 Avenger mug. His eyebrows arch up towards his hairline in surprise. "Go ahead," he says, voice far too full of amusement.

 

Darcy narrows her eyes, cocks her head to the side. Steve stares at her coolly, hands held up and lips twitching in amusement.  "Fine," she says.

 

"Fine," Steve echoes.

 

She steps right into his space, wraps her arms around his impossibly small waist and slips her hands under the elastic of his sweats. A startled laugh escapes her when she finds only bare skin under her hands. Captain America goes commando. His muscles flex and twitch under her palms.

 

"Christ, your hands are cold," Steve says into her hair. His hands skimming lightly over her back.

 

He smells good. Spicy and warm and she's so tempted to plaster herself to him. Leech out every bit of warmth he has to give her. Never mind the ridiculousness of this moment. The fact that they have barely ever touched before and here they are with their arms wrapped around each other in the Avengers kitchen. She wavers for one long minute between dissolving into hysterical laughter or word vomiting all over him. Tilting her head back she meets his very blue and very amused eyes. "So...um...what do we do now?"

 

"You're the one with your hands on my ass, Darcy, why don't you tell me?"

 

Darcy blows out a puff of air, "You really weren't supposed to agree with the stupid stuff I say this early in the morning," Darcy says. She gives his ass a firm squeeze and Steve's warm hands settle low on her back above her own ass. Ever the gentleman, she thinks, despite a crazy chick with her hands down your pants. "God you're warm."

 

"Er, thanks."

 

"Mmm," Darcy hums softly, letting her eyes fall closed. Just one more minute.

 

Really she should move, step back and any number of things, but Steve's fingers are rubbing tiny circles into the small of her back and it is delicious.

 

"Think your hands warm enough yet?" Steve rumbles into her ear.

 

"Maybe."

 

"Pretty sure I can't take you along if there is a call to assemble," Steve says. She hears the grin in his voice before she opens her eyes to see it spread across his stupid pretty face.

 

"Don't be an ass," Darcy says rolling her eyes. She scratches nails over his skin and a needy sound escapes Steve's lips. "Well I better..." She starts but the words dry up as Steve's hips jerk forward closing the gap between them. She can feel him hard against her belly, through layers of cotton and the favorite sweater she's wearing.

 

"Hell," Steve says low.

 

"Help me out here, Steve, before I say something to embarrass us both forever," she says. Chances are about nine thousand percent and rising that she would. Probably more so. And both of them are stubborn and foolhardy enough to jump right in.

 

"More than asking to stick your hands down my pants?"

 

"When you put it that way," Darcy says scrunching up her face. Steve laughs low and ducks his head down to kiss her. Her eyes widen and flutter shut as his mouth slants over hers. His teeth sink into her bottom lip, and a needy moan escapes her. Steve smiles into the kiss, mouth curving up and Darcy drags her short nails over his ass and up the small of his back under the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

 

Their mouths part and Darcy buries her flushed face in cotton of his t-shirt. She'd laugh if she had the breath to do more than grin into his shoulder. Steve's palms slide down her ass, cupping and lifting her just enough to leave her in no doubt of how hard he is against her belly. "Wow," she breathes out. "Well I've learned one thing from this."

 

"What's that?" Steve says voice equally as unsteady as hers.

  
"I am never wearing gloves again."


	47. tin man (Darcy, Tony, Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other week I called for a Darcyland AU challenge. For everyone to write, or make AUs for as something fun to do and to add a little more diversity to the flavour of fics in all the Darcy Lewis ships. Today this little plot bunny popped into my head so I figured I might as well write it down before my muse, Sybil, runs off again. Its only short and I don't know how many of you watched Syfy's Tin Man but I loved it.
> 
> Thanks go to Ladysarah for a quick beta read. <3

A scream echoes through the woods.

 

"Did you hear that," she asks jumping over a branch on the faint path.

 

"Yes...no...possibly? I need to do the math," Tony says reaching up to check the zipper imbedded in his skull.

 

"I think it came from over there," Darcy says. She bolts off through the trees leaving Tony to stumble after her. Through a gap in the trees sits a little house covered in moss and creeping vines. Three men and a dark haired woman stand over a fourth kneeling on the ground. The kneeling man's hands are tied behind his back and blood drips from temple and split lip.

 

A gun is pressed to the woman's temple by a man dressed in a long black coat. The lower half of his face covered in a black mask. Darcy's taser is in her hand before she can think about it. She aims and presses the trigger. The man holding the gun disintegrates.

 

Everything falls to dust but a wooden post with a bit of metal stuck near the top. Opposite the post is a metal sculpture tall as a man, covered in filth and weeds. Blue eyes stare out of a small window in the metal and Darcy's belly twists with fear. "Oh my God, someone's in there."

 

It's not a sculpture at all. It's a coffin.

 

"Well of course they are, sweetheart. This is the O.Z. after all. They put people in....people in...people..." Tony glitches and she smacks him hard on the arm. "Hi, I'm Tony..."

 

"Balls," Darcy mutters under her breath. She pushes through the weeds to the metal coffin, raps her knuckles against the side twice. There is an answering knock. Just once, but it's enough to have Darcy scrambling at the hinges, nails scraping on the metal. "I need something to hit this with."

 

"I've got just the thing...nope. I forgot," Tony says.

 

"It's okay," Darcy says flicking her gaze over the homestead. A small anvil stands a distance away with a hammer half buried in the dirt.

 

The hammer is heavier than it looks.

 

She uses it to tap the pins from the coffin. The door screams in protest and Darcy chokes on the fetid, metallic smell that fills her lungs.

 

A man dressed in rags, dirt and streaks of metal covering every inch of him falls from the coffin to the earth. He takes in a great lungful of sweet air. "Where is he?"

 

"Who?" Darcy asks.

 

"The Winter Soldier. The Witch's puppet," the man says, voice rough and cracked.

 

....

 

"We're trying to get to Central City, Mister," Darcy says when the  man stands at the edge of the wooden dock. The straight razor still gripped tight in his hand.

 

"Captain," he says. A shiver running through him.

 

"Okay, Captain," Darcy starts and the man shakes his head.

 

"Rogers. Steve Rogers," he says turning to face her. Steve's hair is still damp but his face is clean shaven, with sharp cheekbones, full lips and bright blue eyes.

 

"Okaaaay, Captain Rogers, I'm Darcy Gale Lewis. I need to get to Central City."

 

"Trust me, Kid, you don't wanna go there. It's too dangerous," Steve says bending down to scoop up his hat from the wood planks of the dock. He shoves the hat on his head and runs his fingertips over the straps of his gun holster.

 

 

 


	48. I've got a bone to pick with you (Darcy/Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something I wrote to cheer up Katertots the other day. It's a little plotbunny that i wanted to write for ages but it never went anywhere until I was trying to coax words out of my muse, Sybil, and instead of any number of my wips I got this instead. I don't know if there will be any more at this time. I hesitate to say never because that just isn't how Sybil works.
> 
> Thanks go to katertots and ladysarah for encouragement and beta reading.

"Open the door JARVIS," Darcy says, one hand clenching on a stack of files clutched to her chest the other clawed in the hem of her sweater.  

The door buzzes and Darcy opens it, stepping into the apartment and slamming it behind her. It's perfect, she thinks, as perfect as Steve's stupid face and asshole tactics. She roams through the apartment and finds it empty. She didn't expect him to be there after all. She finds his desk and slams the stack of files onto it. A container filled with pens and expensive pencils spills across the table and onto the floor.

Her lips twist into a bitter smile. It's not enough though. "JARVIS, where is Commander Rogers?" she asks smoothing the lines of her sweater.

"Commander Rogers is on the gym level, Miss Lewis," the AI replies. JARVIS may have said more but she's too outraged to listen.

Rogers isn't in the gym when she arrives.

The AI informs her that he's in the locker room and Darcy stops listening. She pushes through the door and into the plush locker room. Threads of steam waft from the shower stalls at the end of the room.

Darcy's heels click across the tiles. There's a thin wall of frosted glass between her and the sole occupant of the showers.  

"You're an asshole," Darcy says, adding an insolent 'sir' after a moment's pause.

"Lewis," he says in that low rumble that Darcy once thought was sexy as hell.

"It was my mission, my research and you're sending Anderson? The man’s a dick. His language skills are shit and he doesn’t know the data like I do."

"I stand by my decision."

"It's a stupid decision."

"Perhaps we should talk about this somewhere else," Steve says. A click sounds and the water abruptly stops.

"I don't care about your dangly bits, Commander, I want to know why you have thrown away two months of research."

"Darcy-"

"No. He's gonna fuck it up and you're gonna let him," she snaps. Her hands are balled into tight fists, mouth pulled into a tight smile when the glass door slides open.

Water drips down Steve's body as he steps out onto the tiled floor in front of Darcy. His chest and belly are covered in dark hair and She can't help but let her eyes roam over him. Jesus the man was gorgeous head to toe. Darcy unconsciously darted her tongue out to wet her lips.

"I thought you didn't care," Steve says.

Darcy yanks her eye up to meet his eyes. “I don’t,” she hisses out the words and hopes the flush of anger and the warmth of the shower room hides the blush warming her cheeks.

“Why don’t--”

“No.”

“You gonna let me speak or keep shouting,” Steve asks. He leans into her space, crowding her back against the countertop. His arm brushes against her as he reaches out to  grab a fluffy white towel. Heat curls in her belly and her breath catches in her throat.  

“It’s my mission,” Darcy says stubbornly. She crosses her arms under her chest for fear of attempting to smack the smug look off of his face.

Or worse.

“It was your mission,” Steve corrects rubbing the towel over his head and face.  “You are not field tested and I am not risking your life on this.”

“But you’ll risk Anderson’s,” Darcy says flatly.

Steve pulls the towel away from his face and rubs it over his chest and belly.

“He’s a soldier. You are not.”

“I’m an agent,” Darcy says unfolding her arms.

“I’m not arguing about this. It’s done.”

“Well I’m not done,” Darcy says taking a half step forward.

It’s a tactical mistake, even in her heels Steve towers over her, and now she has to crane her neck to look up at him. Her nails cut into the palms of her hands.

His right eyebrow twitches up and she thinks she may hate that one more than the left. Hates the way she can feel the heat radiating out from his body. Hates the clean smell of soap and shampoo.  

“Go on, do it,” Steve says. There is an edge to his voice that sends a thrill through her body.

“What?”

“Take a swing at me if it makes you feel better,” he says, his eyes flicking down to her balled fists and slowly back up to her face.

Darcy uncurls her fists, “God, you’re such an asshole.”

“Been called worse.”

“I’m sure you have,” she says. They share a long moment where the only sound is the dripping of the shower and their breath. Darcy drags her eyes away from Steve’s and turns abruptly on her heel. “This isn’t over, Commander.”

Steve groans as she stalks out of the open doorway and the sound of water cascading reaches her ears.


	49. knives don't have your back (Darcy & Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a tumblr post about knives and the different way to hold them and a plotbunny that has been in my head for awhile but I could never find the right story threads to weave it into. 
> 
>  
> 
> title is from 'Winning' by Emily Haines & the Soft Skeleton 
> 
> All mistakes are my own. This time and most every other time too.

_Perfect_ , she thinks, balancing the blade in her fingertips. She twists her fingers and the grip fits perfectly in her palm. She darts her gaze around but the room is empty.

 

She tosses the blade back and forth between her hands, switching her grip and slicing the air.

 

She loses herself in the moment. Lips curving up in a wicked smile as the blade flies between her fingers.

 

A step sounds behind her and Darcy whirls adrenaline flooding her veins. He blocks her and Darcy flips the blade into her other hand. It’s only then that the navy uniform, the brown leather fingerless gloves register on her brain. Her grip falters and he plucks the knife from her fingers.

 

“Jesus, Steve,” Darcy says eyes wide.

 

“Care to explain...this?” Steve says holding the knife in his gloved hand.

 

“Not particularly?” she hedges and Steve’s eyebrows inch up.

 

“Grandpa D taught me.”

 

“Dugan taught you?”

 

“Well. duh.”

 

“It’s not in your file.”

 

“Playing with knives isn't something you put on your transcripts. Don’t tell my mother but he also taught me to shoot. Doesn't mean I want to be a secret agent no matter how hot the spandex is,” Darcy shrugs and  lets her gaze flick over Steve’s uniform. It’s not made out of spandex, she knows, rather some polymer that she can’t even  imagine trying to pronounce. “Wait you read my file?

 

The corner of Steve’s mouth ticks up, “You’re Dum Dum’s granddaughter.” _of course I read your file_ , he doesn’t say.

 

Darcy blinks and for a moment she sees her grandfather’s face behind her eyelids. The whiskers of his mustache, the hat perched on his head whenever her grandma wasn’t there to shout at him for wearing it. He always had the best sweaters, thick and scratchy smelling of wool, cigars, and spicy aftershave. He’s been gone for years and still she misses the sound of his laugh, the smell of whisky on his breath and his stories.

 

“I am,” she says jutting her chin out. “You know he told the best stories about you.”

 

“I’m afraid to ask.”

 

“You should be,” Darcy says with a sharp grin. She reaches forward and plucks the knife from Steve’s hand.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ages I had a plotbunny running around my head that Darcy was Dum Dum's granddaughter but I could never fit it in anywhere. It worked it's way into this little ficlet and hopefully now it's out of my system and I have something to tick off my list. Go me.


	50. match (Darcy & Natasha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha plays matchmaker. Darcy isn't entirely convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as something written on my phone, which I had entirely forgotten about until I was looking for something else. So I reworked it as I was inspired by the latest Cap 2 trailer (don't worry there is anything spoilery in this). 
> 
> Thank you ladycheeky for the quick beta read.
> 
> This is my 50th ficlet in this collection so woot. Go me? 
> 
> P.S. Welcome back to Darcyland, Britt.

"You're joking."

"No, I’m Russian, we don’t make jokes," Natasha says flatly, red hair spilling over her shoulder and catching in the bright overhead lights. Natasha wears a smile sharp as a blade and Darcy tries her hardest not to be unnerved. "I think you'd make a good match."

"You seriously want me, Darcy Lewis, lab monkey extraordinaire, to go on a date with Captain Freaking America."

“No, I want you to meet my friend Steve for drinks and dinner.”

“But I don’t actually know him,” Darcy says. She’s met him of course, while chasing after Jane, but other than a few awkward moments of small talk they haven’t spent any time together. Different circles and all that jazz. “He’s not even looked at me twice.”

“Oh he’s looked,” Natasha smirks and tilts her head subtly towards the lab windows. Darcy raises her eyebrows and glances up as Steve walks past in all his blue suited glory. If one went for that sort of thing. His eyes flick over to the lab windows and a smile curves across his lips. Darcy’s belly flops over and plays dead. One smile and she’s lost.

The mug of coffee in her hand slips from her fingers and shatters on the floor. Coffee splattering over the toes of her boots. "Frick. What a waste of good coffee," Darcy says shaking herself back to the room.

Natasha smiles is wide and dangerous, amusement lighting up her eyes. She plucks a roll of paper towels from the counter and holds it out. "Just think if his smile is that devastating imagine what his cock can do."

"Oh my God, why would you say that? That's...that’s just supervillain levels of bad," Darcy sputters as she unwinds the paper towel. Crouching on the floor she begins to mop up spill.

"Assassin,” Natasha says leaning over to pluck a shard of shattered coffee mug from the floor and sending it in a graceful arc into the garbage bin. “You really never thought about him before now?"

"Well, yes? No. I mean he’s all pretty and cut, but it's like a spangly no go area. It's Captain America...Steve. I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about it now," Darcy says shoving the sodden paper towels in the bin. The expression on Natasha’s face says she isn’t buying one little bit of what Darcy’s selling. “Does he even know you’re setting him up on a blind date?”

"Not yet. But he will be there. Come now we need find you a dress to make him incapable of thinking with his higher brain," Natasha says, her left eyebrow quirking up. “Say yes.”

“Yes," Darcy splutters dropping a handful of porcelain shards in the garbage bin. “Wait, what? No. He wouldn't lose IQ points. There is no losing of IQ point’s to be talked about.”

"He's a man like any other,” Natasha says. “Now grab your coat. We have some shopping to do before your date with Steve.”

“Nothing lowcut.”

“We’ll see.”


	51. not to be trusted (Darcy/Jensen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted Darcy Lewis/Jake Jensen (the Losers) and 'Darcy is Cougar's sister' forever ago on tumblr. The plotbunny just never worked out until the other day when I decided that I was going to write the damn three sentences and be done with it. This is a little more than that but I do like it.
> 
> and yes I totally ship Darcy/All Chris Evans' characters... or at least most of them. Ahem.

“Go Petunias?” Darcy asks as she pulls the pink t-shirt  over her head. She pushes her glasses back on and the world comes into focus.

“My niece’s little league soccer team,” Jensen murmurs face down on the pillows.

“Ah,” she says, running her finger over the messy heap cables and electronics on his desk.

The sheets tangled around his waist and all that tanned, toned flesh is far too tempting. There are scars on his back, rough lines in the flesh. Ink on his shoulders that she doesn’t know the symbolism of. He’s not her type. Sure, he’s nerdy and awkward, but there’s a sharpness to him. A military cut that should come with a skull and crossbones sticker. Calluses and scars on his hands that should scare her off and not heat her blood.

“Come back to bed, Darce,” Jensen murmurs, rolling onto his side and squinting at her. He fumbles for the pair of glasses on the nightstand and perches them on his nose. He grins at her, all crooked charm that twists something inside, and swipes his phone from beside an empty water glass. “Say cheese.”

“Fuck off,” she huff, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Close enough,” Jensen smirks.

Darcy rolls her eyes and climbs back in bed. He drops the phone on the sheets and pulls her into a kiss. It’s sloppy and deep, and his hands wander over her ass and under the shirt. He’s trails kisses down her neck, sucking marks in her skin already pinked by the scratch of stubble.

She pushes him back and scoops up the phone. Skimming through the apps she finds and opens the photos. “Hey, don’t delete it. you look cute.”

“Cute?” Darcy says flatly.

“Hot. Gorgeous and, like, really, really fuckin’ adorable.”

The picture isn’t half bad, she thinks. Her nose is wrinkled and the t-shirt covers all her naughty bits. She browses a few photos back: kids playing soccer, a few postcard-worthy scenes, and a group of men standing with their arms around each other. “What?”

“What, what?”

“Why the fuck do you have a picture of my brother on your phone?”

“That’s a why and not a what. And what brother? You have a brother?” Jensen asks. Darcy turns the phone around in her hand, one green lacquered nail pointing at her brother on the left of the screen.  “No. No, no, no. That’s not _your_ brother. That’s Cougar.”

“Different mothers, still _my_ brother.”

“That’s a little…unsettling.”

“Ya think?” Darcy arches a brow.

“Fuck. I’m dead.”

“Probably.”


	52. Villainess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the tumblr prompt 'Steve/Darcy evil super villain!darcy captures Steve and hits on him'.
> 
> The prompt sat in my ask box for only 4 months this time, I still have a few others I want to get done in amongst working on White Rabbit (and you know you're going to fall) and the next story in the Rush verse that are the top stories on my WIPs list at the moment.

“Oh, please you can stop with the name, rank and serial number biz, Captain. I really don’t care,” Darcy says, examining the nail polish on her right hand. “Damn I scuffed a nail.”

 

“What do you want from me,” Captain America rasps pulling uselessly at the metal cuffs attached to his wrists and ankles. The uniform is torn in places, golden skin and hair visible on chest and thigh. The cowl is just as battered and Darcy gives into the temptation to pull it from his head. She knows the face of the man behind the mask. The blue eyes and long lashes, the blonde hair dampened by sweat.

 

His jaw clenches tight, and his eyes bore into hers. She absolutely does not shiver.

 

Darcy drags her nails over his cheek, scraping against skin and stubble. “I want a great deal of things, Captain.  Seeing what you could do on your knees with that pretty mouth is sadly not at the top of my list so don’t worry your pretty little head. Your virtue is safe from me.”

 

“What do you want,” the Captain grit out.

 

“Ah, what sort of half assed Bond Villainess do you take me for,” Darcy tisks, digging her fingertips into his jaw.  

 

“You tell me.”

 

“I wish that I could, but that’s not part of the game,” she says. Darcy leans over and brushes her lips against his cheek. The scent of sweat, smoke, and the faint tang of woodsy aftershave fills her lungs.

 

The red mark of her lipstick a livid wound on his cheek. He swallows hard, mouth turned down in a frown, eyebrows pinched together.  Darcy’s laptop trills shrilly and the Captain jerks his head back.

  
“Looks like playtime is over.” She reaches up to offer him a sloppy salute, hand brushes the mask covering the upper half of her face.


	53. It's so fluffy. (Steve/Darcy & minions)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Drake's fault entirely. 
> 
> Also I think my muse is faulty. After writing the previous villain!Darcy ficlet he prompted me with Darcy being one of Gru's daughters and this occurred. 
> 
> I'm sorry. 
> 
> Not really. I don't know. I've had a terrible day and this little plot bunny helped me feel a little better.

"Wait, wait, wait…we’re not doing this," she says clapping her hands together. The minions grumble and disperse around Steve. The last one side eyeing the girl and poking his ribs with a mop handle.

Steve grunts in pain but makes no other move keeping his hands held high above his head. “We need to stop meeting like this,” he says with mouth twisting up in a crooked smile.

"Isn’t that rather cliche, Captain?" She says batting away one of the minions tugging at the soft folds of her fluffy robe. It’s blue covered in sleepy clouds with a yawning sun peering out from the pocket. Under the robe he can see one fuzzy pink slipper with a spiralling golden horn, dull plastic eyes, and long curly eyelashes. 

"Steve," he says lowering his hands to his side. 

"Okay,  _Steve_ , how did you get here?” she asks.

Steve lowers his gaze to the minion gripping her robe. She looks at him blankly and he arches his left brow. 

"Oh. Oh, no," she sights running a hand through her loose hair. "No you did not bring Captain America home. Why did you bring him here, Fred?"

"Para tú," the minion, Fred, says wringing his small gloved  hands together. "Darcy." _  
_

"For me? Why would you bring him here? Dad’s gonna kill me,"  Darcy says crossing her arms over her chest. The unicorn slipper stamping on the ground. Steve’s not sure if its meant to be impressive or not but the minions around the edges of the room make an ‘oooh’ sound and shuffle around.

"La boda," pipes up a smaller minion. A single eye in the middle of his yellow forehead. The minion points from Darcy to Steve. Her eyes go wide and pink warms her cheeks. Steve thought she was beautiful before, when he thought she was a villain and it turned out she wasn’t quite what she seemed to be, but now? Now with the blush on her cheeks and he blue eyes wide and bright she was gorgeous. Even dressed in ridiculous unicorn slippers. 

"No, Dave, no," Darcy says shaking her head and carefully avoiding Steve’s eyes. The minions all begin to babble at once. One keeps saying ‘potato’ over and over again and the rest keep pointing back and forth between Steve and Darcy. "No."

"Da," says Fred. The rest of the minions nod, broad smiles on their faces.

"No," she repeats. 

"No, what?" Steve gives in and asks. Really he has no idea what’s going since he woke up in a sea of yellow limbs and blue denim. 

"Da, da, da, da," chorus the minions. 

"Cap," says Fred pointing at Steve and tugging on Darcy’s hand.  The minions start repeating ‘Cap’ and ‘Darcy’ over and over.

One minion starts blowing raspberries. There are hands on Steve’s back, shoving him forward to meet Darcy in the middle of the room. 

"I’m not marrying him," Darcy says waving her hand about and smacking Steve in the chest. 

Oh.  _Oh,_  Steve thinks. “Is that what—”  

"Da," the minions cheer. "Date, date, date."

"I don’t think," he starts and Darcy levels her gaze at him. She’s tiny standing there in her silly slippers and wild hair. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he wanted to push back the strands of dark hair covering her left eye. Or kiss her. His eyes drop down to the curve of her berry pink lips. "You know what? Yeah, okay, a date." 

"What?" 

"I’d like to date a girl before I marry her," Steve says. It’s probably the smoothest line he has ever said and still he can hear the echo of Bucky’s laughter in his head.

"M’kay," Darcy says softly.

The minions titter and cheer. One of them pinches his ass and starts giggling saying ‘bottom’ over and over. He’s pretty sure he’s going to owe Fury another ten dollars after tonight, but at least he has a date.


	54. minion verse part II (Steve, Sam, Natasha, and minions)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have terrible awful friends. Or just one friend, Drake, that prompted more of this Minion verse and it stayed in my head for a week stewing until I wrote this little bit this morning. So blame Drake.
> 
> A continuation of the previous chapter.

“So are you coming to the SI mixer tonight? It’s gonna be fun,” Natasha asks as she slips up on his left.

“More fun than this?” Steve says prying the helmet from his head and running a gloved hand through his sweaty hair. His eyes scan the street but nothing is moving but a scrap of newspaper caught in a vent.

“Linda from accounting will be there. She likes you.”

“Strawberry blonde with the aversion to all things green?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, no, besides I-”

"It's those little yellow guys again," Sam says as he swoops down to land on his right.

“What? Where?” Steve says shoving his shield onto his back. “Nevermind.” He sees the minions then. A small pack of them clambering over the prone body of  a mammoth lemon yellow beetle, definitely not the car,  they’d been tasked with fighting half the afternoon. One of the minions tumbles to the asphalt and another begins laughing and waving his arms around cheerfully. “Damn it.”

“Are those…?”

“Minions,” Steve says, wincing as the minions turn as one and scramble to reach him. Natasha raises her weapons and Steve holds out his arm. “They’re harmless, Nat.” Natasha tilts her head at him, eyebrows arching up. “Trust me.”

“Cap! Cap! Cap!” the minions cheer as they swarm over to them. There’s a baker’s dozen of them crawling all over each other to hug him. It’s not pleasant. Nor is the constant chatter emanation from their mouths. He can only catch every seventh word or so, a repetition of ‘Cap’, ‘Darcy’,  ‘date’ and ‘‘la boda’ in the happy babble as they poke and prod at his uniform. One taps on his shield.

“I, uh, have a date.”

“Date!” says a minion with a single eye.  _Dave_ , Steve thinks,  _or possibly Fred._

“Da!” chorus the rest of the minions.

“Since when?” Sam says pushing away an inquisitive minion tugging at his left boot and shaking another from poking at his wings. “Hey stop that.”

Not a single minion touches Natasha. One minion with two eyes hidden behind goggles and dark spikes of hair on his head appears to be sketching Natasha’s boots on a small notepad. It’s tongue is caught between large square teeth as he concentrates.

“Since the last time they showed up,” Steve says as two minions begin to tug on his gloved hand.

"You couldn't just ask out a girl from accounting, could you?" Natasha says glaring at one of the taller minions caught reaching towards her ass.

“Darcy Lewis, one of Felonius Gru’s daughters. She checks out,” he says before Natasha can say anything else. He wasn’t going to have a repeat of the barista at his third favorite coffee shop who just so happened to a) not be entirely human and b) was a HYDRA agent. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen again.

“Darcy, Darcy, Darcy,” the minions chorus.

“Gelato,” cries another minion thrusting small gloved fists into the air. Dave, the minion, curled his fist and bopped the other on top of his head.

“She pretty?” Sam asks, and Steve fails to keep his face neutral.

 _She’s gorgeous_ , he wants to say.

A  minions pulls out a small black cube and holds it up to Steve. “Thank you,” he says taking it carefully.

“Darcy,” the minion coos and presses the top of the cube. The cube unfurls into a rectangle his hand and a video plays of the night the minions kidnapped him.

 _“I’m not marrying him,”_  Darcy says waving her hands about in the video.

“She’s pretty,” Natasha says thoughtfully as she pulls the tablet from his hand. 

“Hey, watch where you put your hands,” Sam says turning around and rubbing his behind. “That one pinched my ass.”

“Bottom,” chirps the minion in question, a wide grin on its sunny face.

“Stop that,” Steve says pulling his hands free of them minions to cross his arms over his chest. He levels the minions with his best Captain-America-is-disappointed face.

Two minions' lips wobble and a third bursts into tears.

 _Damn it_ _._  Steve sighs and wishes he had the patience of a saint. Or a sniper.

“Nice going, Cap, look what you did,” Sam says, awkwardly patting  a minion on the head as the minion clings to his leg.

A minion, with a single eye, starts pointing at the watches strapped to his wrist and taps his foot impatiently. Steve’s pretty sure neither watch tells the correct time. The minion spits out a string of babble ending in ‘la boda’.

 _"I’d like to date a girl before I marry her,"_ he hears himself say on the video. Steve winces. It really sounded better at the time.

“Who knew you could be so smooth, Rogers,” Sam says clapping him on the shoulder. There’s laughter in his voice and and Steve’s mouth twitches up at the corners.

The minions swarm over Steve and begin to push and pull at him. “Hey, hey,” he says.

“Have fun on your date,” Natasha calls out behind him.

Sam adds a far too cheerful ‘don’t forget to use protection’ that stops the minions in their tracks and makes Steve wish he had better friends. The minions glare at Steve small arms crossing over their cylindrical chests. The tips of Steve’s ears grow warm and he holds his hands up in front of him.

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve says dryly.

“No problem, man,” Sam replies. The minions chatter, occasionally giving him pointed looks before they begin to pull at him again leading him in the opposite direction from the beetle.

“Wait, I can’t go out like this,” he says waving at his uniform covered torso. The minions ignore him as the tug him towards an inconspicuous grey van with two minions leaning out the window of the driver’s side.  

“Da,” says Dave, nodding his head enthusiastically.

Sunlight glints off the safety glass of the minion’s goggles and burns into Steve’s eyes. He really hopes that Darcy leaves the minions home. He has a feeling there will be minions spying on them anyway. Steve’s right boot squishes with every step he takes. “No, wait. My apartment first,” Steve says stubbornly. “I’m not going to go on a date smelling like bug guts.”

The minions blink up at him.

“Darcy won’t like it?” he tries again.

“Oooh,” the minions coo and start jabbering excitedly among themselves.

“Come on then,” he sighs.


	55. minion verse part III (Steve/Darcy, Gru and the minions)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets ready for his date and then gets a shovel talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lostdaemon and a few others prompted me to write a bit more in this little verse so here it is. 
> 
> 'The Minions watch too many movies and TV shows and think that the proper way a first date is supposed to go involves the suitor showing up and being grilled by the date's father while waiting on the date to finish getting ready... No one warned Steve about this. Or Gru. And of course... Darcy is the last to know.' - lostdaemon
> 
> Thanks go to Ladysarah for a quick read through of this. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> [part I](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/2808226) [part II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/3027376)

The sound of breaking glass filters through the closed bathroom door.

Steve grits his teeth and wishes he left them in the hallway for Mrs Mancini to deal with. Mrs. Mancini stole his newspaper every other morning when he was out running.

He counts to ten in his head, "Be careful."

"Bi-do," chorus the minions through the door.

His shirt is missing from the hanger.

"Where's my shirt?" There is a shuffling and whispering among the minions. The door opens a crack and a new shirt is shoved through the gap. It's not the pale green button down he picked out for the date but a blue shirt with small mother of pearl buttons.

The shirt is a few shades darker than his eyes, or perhaps the color of Darcy's. It's definitely not his shirt. He puts the shirt on anyway and is thankful the minions haven't seen fit to take his jeans. They're his favorite pair.

"This isn't mine," he says when he opens the door.

"Cap," Dave says twirling his finger around.

Steve clenches his jaw and twirls around in a slow circle. It’s somehow less humiliating than a trip to the mall with Natasha.

The minions gather together whispering,small gloved hands flailing.

Several long minutes pass.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, eyes scanning the room for what the minions have destroyed. Nothing is out of place. Not one single thing. In fact the living room is spotless. Including the untidy pile of books and newspapers (bought from the newsstand, thank you very much Mrs. Mancini) he had been reading when the call had been made about the mutated dung beetle roaming the city.

He’s starting to think the whole idea of this date was a bad decision, in a long line of bad decisions he’s made with his life, when the minions pounce. Again. They comb his hair, spritzing him with God knows what. Chemicals fill his lungs and tickle his nose.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he says as calmly as he can. The minions stuff his arms into a dark blue leather jacket and push a bouquet of coral, pink and white flowers into his hands. "Will I do?"

“Beau,” pronounce the minions with toothy grins.

Steve reaches up to touch his hair and a minion scowls at him, waving a finger. “Er, sorry.”

....

"What do you want?" are the words that greet Steve, when he knocks on the door of Darcy’s house. The flowers  the minions gave him held awkwardly in his hand.

"I'm Darcy’s date, sir," Steve says, sounding less confidant the more syllables fall from his mouth. “Steve Rogers.” He holds out his hand but Gru waves it away.

"A date," Gru says dragging out the ‘a’ in date. “You have a date with my daughter?”

“Yes, sir.”

"Date," chorus the minions.

“Nice...house,” Steve says. It is nice in an ominous sort of way with black painted brickwork and dark purple trim. The lawn is very green and everywhere there are bright flowers. “May I come in?”

“It is four walls and a roof, the appearance makes no difference,” Gru says stepping back from the door.

Steve follows him into a large living room, with floral wallpaper, elaborate framed photos of Gru, the minions, Darcy and her sisters as small almost angelic looking children.

The sofa is a surprise with its blood red cushions and dark scales.  _A dragon or maybe a crocodile_ , he thinks. It’s a little unsettling but not any worse that the pictures Thor paints with his epic tales of hunting far odder beasts than couches.

"Sit, sit," Gru says waving a his hands from Steve to the immense sofa. He sit down gingerly on the edge of the couch and hopes it doesn’t bite him in the ass the way reality appears to be.

"Pala," Dave, the minion, says.

Steve knows that one.

Two minions rock up beside him, red and white striped boxes of popcorn clutched tight in their small gloved hands. A third minion tugs on Gru’s sleeve and hands him a small yellow shovel with pink polk-a-dot ribbon trailing from the handle.

"Yes, it’s a very nice shovel, Edgar.”

“Pala,” Edgar says pointing at Steve.

“Why do I need a shovel?" Gru asks.

“I think they want you to give me a shovel talk,” Steve says quietly.  _This is why Natasha thinks I’m an idiot._

“Do I need to give you a shovel talk?”

“Da,” the minions chant, clapping their hands together and cheer. Popcorn spills over the floor and onto the toe of Steve’s shoe.

“You are aware that I am a supervillain, yes?” Gru says drawing himself up to his full height.

“I am aware,” Steve says, though personally he thinks ‘supervillain’ is a bit of a stretch. He doesn’t say that.

“Oh, my God,”  Darcy says as she steps into the room. Coral colored skirt swirl around her knees with every step she takes. His mouth goes dry and his brain fogs up. “Pretty please, tell me this is not happening.”

“This is not happening,” Gru says dryly.

“You are not making death threats to Captain America,” Darcy says. Her hands on her hips and a frown on her pink painted lips.

“What death threats? There are no death threats here, only heavily implied gross bodily harm,” Gru smiles. It’s not a pleasant smile.

“Hi, Steve,” Darcy says. Her voice rasps when she says his name, and a spike of adrenaline surges through his body.

“Hi, Darcy.”

“You didn’t back out.”

“No I didn’t,” her says holding out the flowers for her. “These are for you.”

“Minions?”

“Minions.”

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” she says tossing the flowers to a group (pod?) of minions who scramble over each other for possession of the bouquet. Darcy curls her arm around his and looks up at him through the dark fall of her lashes. Steve flexes the muscles beneath her hands. “Later, dad, Minions.”

He lets Darcy drag him out of the room and down the hall to the front door, stopping briefly to  grab a black leather jacket and tiny purse from the hands of a minion, Oscar or Oliver, it was definitely an O name.  _Orlando_ , he thinks.

“Like the dress?” Darcy asks as she pulls on her jacket and flicks her hair out from the collar.

“It’s gorgeous,” he says, letting his eyes sweep over her from the loose curls tumbling around her shoulders to the peep toed wedges on her feet.  You’re gorgeous.”

Pink creeps into Darcy’s cheeks and she tilts her head down, lips curved in a shy smile. “You’re sweet.” She thrusts out her foot and rotates her ankle in a slow circle. “And the shoes?”

Steve focuses on the ribbons wrapped around her slender ankle. “Are a vast improvement on the unicorn slippers,” he replies and Darcy laughs, full and throaty, head thrown back and eyes sparkling.

“They are, aren’t they,” Darcy says, slipping her hand in his and lacing their fingers together. “Lets go.”

“Wait! Do you have your raygun?” Gru calls from down the hall.

“Yes, dad,” Darcy says, patting the small purse swinging at her hip.

Steve’s eyebrows raise, “Raygun?”

“It’s totally fine,” she says pulling the door open and pushing him through. “and I’m sorry about my dad...and the minions. They, uh, watch way too many 80s movies. It rots their brains.”

“Wait, when did he see your unicorn slippers?” Gru’s voice filters through the door. The minions start shouting all at once. “You did what?”  

Darcy scrunches up her nose, “We better go. Like ten minutes ago.”

“Are you--”

“Yup, totally. Let’s rock, Captain.”


	56. things that have been seen (Sam Wilson, Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam sees something that he really, really wishes he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all Aenaria's fault. All of it. The ficlet started in chat where I said 'I want fic of..." and we threw buts of dialogue and thoughts back and forth and she enabled the hell out of me. I was lucky enough that Sybil was more than agreeable to take the bones from chat and built them into this ficlet. 
> 
> In my head this fic takes place after the events of [I've got a bone to pick with you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/2500636) but you don't need to have read that ficlet to read this one. 
> 
> Thanks go to Ladysarah for a quick beta, and to Aenaria for enabling. 
> 
> on with the fic.

 Sam arrives  at their crappy rent-by-the-week apartment at fifteen hundred hours. It’s home, however temporarily while rooming with a larger than life legend and chasing after a broken nonagenarian assassin.

The door is unlocked and broken glass is scattered across the  floor.

Shit, shit, shit.

 _What did you get us into this time, Cap?_ , he thinks quietly settling two heavy canvas grocery bags on the floor. One of the bags slouches to the side, spilling apples across the floor.

“Steve?” he says low, adrenaline spiking through his system as he unholsters his weapon, gripping it in both hands.

A low groan filters to his ears and Sam breathes out slowly, pulse jumping.

He kicks open the door with his boot. The door bounces off the wall and he barely catches it in his fingers, eyes wide in horror at the tableau before him. Steve’s naked, skin slick with sweat as he pounds into a girl, equally naked on the kitchen table. Sam’s jaw drops and Steve’s eyes snap open.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t know, man,” he says backing out of the kitchen and down the hall. “Oh, God, my eyes.”

 

….

 

"I’m traumatised. All the things that I have seen and it’s Captain America that has traumatised me."

"You’re a counsellor," Steve says offering up a bottle of beer.

“And?”

"Aren't you trained to deal with trauma?"

"Oh, no, I am not talking to you," Sam says grabbing the bottle and avoiding eye contact.

“There’s no one else here,” Steve says, eyes flicking over the empty livingroom.

“Cept that pretty little thing you were doing on my kitchen table.”

“It’s not your kitchen,” Steve says. As if the distinction makes things any better.

“I did not need to see your shiny white ass plowing some chick, Rogers,” Sam says pointing at Steve with the index finger of the hand he’s holding the bottle in.

“Dammit, Steve, you’re supposed to put a damn sock on the door first.”

“Sorry.”

“What the hell were you thinking, man.”

"I, uh, wasn’t thinking. M’sorry you had to see that," Steve says in that sincere tone that Sam’s beginning to despise.

“You’re damn right you weren’t thinking. There’s a code. You abide by the code, Captain…,” Sam rants on ignoring the kicked puppy look Steve throws at him. He isn’t stupid enough to fall for that shit any more. “…and anyway where did the girl come from?”

“She’s my…girlfriend,” Steve says jaw twitching and eyes straying from Sam’s to the doorway.

“Bullshit.” 

“S’true. Knew her before I met you.”

“You’re Captain Fucking America you can’t lie…also I can’t believe I just said that,” Sam says with a shudder.

“He’s not lying…at least not this time anyway,” the girl says from the doorway.

“I don’t lie,” Steve says defensively. There is a smile curving across his face though and Steve sits up a little straighter. “And you weren’t supposed to come here, Darcy.”

"Yeah, cause I’m going to listen and stay way when you say HYDRA agents shot at you."

"Only a little bit," Steve says dryly.

"Keep telling yourself that, Steven," Darcy says stepping into the room. Her cheeks are flushed pink and she fidgets with the hem of her t-shirt. She smooths out her skirt and walks over to Sam, hand extended. "Hi, Darcy Lewis. I’d say nice to meet you, but you have to admit our first introduction was a little, uh, inconvenient there."

"That’s one word for it," Sam says, shaking hands with her.

“Mentally scarring?”

“That’s more like it,” Sam nods, and Darcy smiles wide and bright. “So you and blondie bear over there?”

“Yup.”

“You know of all the people to walk in on I I can’t believe I walked in on Captain America,” Sam says with a sour twist of his mouth. The girl, Darcy, blushes brighter and rubs her free hand over her face. Sam tracks his gaze over to Steve who shrugs and reaches out for Darcy, pulling her hand down and lacing their fingers together. Its oddly intimate, which drags Sam’s brain back to the image of Captain America fucking a girl on his kitchen table.

He did not need to see that.  _Ever_.

If you had asked him an hour ago Sam would have said that Captain America does not watch porn. He does not have sex. Nope. In the book of Sam Wilson these things do not happen and he will never ever see them.

“Captain America is a corporate tool. Steve Rogers though? He’s a jerk,” Darcy says.

“Hey,” Steve mutters crossing his arms over his chest.

“I like you."

"Thanks," Darcy grins tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Think you can do better than him,” Sam says, grinning at Steve’s splutter.

“Yeah, but I’m kinda attached to his stupid face. And he totally rocks at moving furniture around.”

“How’d you meet?”

“I’m a SHIELD agent…former SHIELD agent,” Darcy says wincing and shaking her head. “Nerd herd, tech and analysis. Captain Rogers refused to let me go on a mission. We argued. There may have been name calling, then-”

“I think we’ve given Sam enough mental scars for today without telling him that,” Steve says pressing a bottle of beer into Darcy’s hands.

"You know, she’s out of your league, right?"

“Probably,” Steve shrugs, “thought you weren’t talking to me?”

“I’m still not talking to you,” Sam says rinsing his empty bottle in the sink and tossing it in the recycling box. “Does Natasha know?”

Steve’s face hardens and he shakes his head, “No. I tried to tell her but…”

“Right,” Sam says reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slim phone and finding Natasha’s number in the address book.

“No,” Steve says as Sam backs out of the room shutting the door between them.

 _“This better be important, Wilson,”_ Natasha says, voice husky and low on the line.

“Oh, it’s better than important. You're gonna love this. Trust me.”

“Sam!” Steve shouts after him.

Sam ignores the shout a wide grin spreading across his face. "Seems our brave leader's been keeping secrets from us."

_"Talk."_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI its really hard to post fic when your cat brings in a mouse as a gift for your crappy hunting skills. I did not need that.


	57. they say that promises sweeten the blow (Peggy Carter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt for 'Peggy Carter and Roses'.
> 
> I had fits writing this ficlet. I love Peggy but I doubted myself so much trying to pin down her voice...and not making myself sad. Today I opened it after long talks with ladysarah and Aenaria about headcanons and what I wanted to happen here instead of what I had. I think I'm happy with it now. *wibble* The research for the ficlet was more fun than writing it I think.
> 
> Title from My Skin by Natalie Merchant.
> 
>  

“Anything else, ma’am?”

“I have said my peace, Agent, there is nothing left worth saying,” Peggy says crisply, twisting  the pen in her fingers as she signs her name one last time.

She places her badge and sidearm on the gleaming surface of her desk. Smoothing the lines of her skirt as she stands. She takes nothing with her as she walks out the door but her purse and a handful of framed photographs. “Good evening, gentlemen, I leave SHIELD in your good hands.”

A murmur of promises, sickly sweet fall on her ears. There are no sugared words to take the bitter taste from her mouth.

Her heels click smartly on the floor and catches her reflection in the steel elevator doors.

Dark curls, streaked with silver, perfectly in place. Painted lips a weapon. Sharp as words. Sharp as the blade tucked into the lining of her purse.

She remembers the woman she once was; stubborn and brash, and achingly young. Standing in a pub in a red dress, and heels that pinched her toes. A young man stumbling over his words in a perfectly pressed uniform. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, and aftershave.

She takes in a steadying breath. Imagines dragging the scent of  _Red Roses_ into her lungs.

The scent lingers in her memories long after she stops wearing it. The same way Steve lingers there in all his stubborn pride.

 _We tried our best to make the world a better place. Tried and cocked it up,_ she thinks.

Her hands are steady, if not as clean as they once were. She can still walk away with her head held high. Hope in her chest that time will make a difference. _Time heals_ , she thinks and purses her lips. It’s a romantic notion that she has no truck with.

Time does not heal, it allows scars to form _._ She has more than her fair share of scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Roses is a [Yardley](http://www.yardleylondon.co.uk/) perfume that launched in the 1930s. It's still in production to this day although the scent has been changed from the original. A history of Yardley soaps can be found [here](http://www.cosmeticsandskin.com/companies/yardley.php).


	58. white feather (Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skinny!Steve receives a white feather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lostdaemon hit up my ask box with Skinny!Steve receiving a white feather (a symbol of cowardice in the British Armed services) from a little girl... this drifts a bit but it is more to my headcanon. 
> 
>  
> 
> white feather  
> noun  
> 1\. a white feather given to someone as a sign that the giver considers them a coward.
> 
> the wiki entry has [more](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_feather).

The moon is a pale sliver in the corner of the window when slow footsteps sound out in the hall. A white envelope slides under the gap between the door and the floor boards. Steve unfolds himself from the hard-back chair where he’s been hunched over the small table drawing comics his mother would never approve it. It pays the bills, he won't mooch off Bucky. That isn't how things work between them.

 

The hall is empty when he opens the door with a soft, “Hello?”

 

There is no name on the letter. No stamp or address.

 

Shrugging he brings it over to his desk, flips the envelope over and pulls his Remington pocket knife out of his pocket to open the letter. The knife is warm from his pocket, red and white striped celluloid and steel smooth under his fingers. The paper cuts clean.

 

A single white feather fills the envelope.

 

“Coward,” he says, voice hard and the air leaves Steve’s lungs. His jaw locks up tight and his guts twist.

 

“What time’s it,” Bucky calls out from the doorway to his room. He’s dressed in a white undershirt and a loose pair of boxers, hair stuck up at odd angles, stubble covering his chin.

 

“Late,” Steve says, hunching his shoulders in. He keeps his breathing slow, in and out.

 

“Whaddya got there, Steve?”

 

“Nothin’, Buck, go back ta sleep,” he says crumpling the envelope and feather in his hand.

 

“What you got there,” Bucky asks, jerking his chin at Steve’s hand. “Don’t lie.” Steve’s shoulders slump and he tosses the balled paper to Bucky. He catches it before it hits him in the face. Steve’s always had good aim. The paper crinkles in Bucky’s hands and he smooths it out and pulls the feather, now bent, from it. “A feather.”

 

“I'm a coward,” Steve says flatly.

 

“Since when?”

 

“S’what it means. A white feather for a coward.”

 

“It wasn’t meant for you, pal.”

 

“Who the hell is it meant for? Everyone knows you’re not a coward, Buck.”

 

Bucky laughs then, dark and ugly. “I'm tellin' ya you got it all wrong. It was meant for me. I’m the one. I’m the coward.”

 

“Buck-”

 

“I got drafted, Steve.”

 

“That doesn’t prove-.”

 

“It proves I ain’t nothin’ but a liar and a coward,” Bucky says letting the paper and the feather drop to the floor. “Don’t say a fuckin’ word,” Bucky says, turning on his heel and slamming the door shut. The sound echoes through the apartment, rattling the framed sketches on the wall.

 

The feather drifts across the floor to Steve’s feet.

  
_Tomorrow_ , he thinks. Tomorrow he will try and enlist again. 


	59. minion verse part IV (Steve/Darcy and the minions)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Steve go on their first date. Surprisingly enough it isn't quite a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies for the toothache you are about to receive. 
> 
> Thanks go to ladysarah for the quick beta read. 
> 
> [part I](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/2808226) [part II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/3027376) [part III](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/3145636)

“I’m sorry.”

“For what,” Steve asks folding down his menu.

“Everything?”

“I think you might need to be a little more specific.”

Darcy huffs out a laugh. The pads of her fingers nudge the cutlery on the table lining it up in straight lines on the paper napkin. The restaurant, Miranda’s, is tiny. Warm and inviting with the rich scent of cooking meats and cilantro. Garlic and herbs. Cinnamon and chocolate.

“Them.”

_Ah. Them._

Steve flicks his gaze out across the restaurant to a small table tucked in the corner. Sat at the table are two minions, dressed in what Steve supposes is meant to be civilian clothing, a hat and beige coat on one. The other minion is wearing a curly red wig, garash flowered dress, and eye burningly bright pink lipstick. The minions duck down behind their menus. Steve sighs. It’s not that he didn’t know they were there, subtle is not a word in the minions’ lexicon. Glancing out the small picture window he can see a van parked across the street.

A mural painted on the side, a warrior woman holding a sword while riding a purple unicorn. Classy. In the driver’s seat are perched two minions arguing over what he thinks might be a video camera. Steve hands curl into fists. He lets the air ease from his lungs and mentally counts to ten.

“It’s not your fault,” he says with a half smile.

“This is why I haven’t been on a date in forever,” Darcy says, wrinkling her nose. She twists her plate counter clockwise, the flower pattern aligning towards the center of the table.

Steve reaches out and covers her hand with his. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“You’re a bad liar, Captain,” she says, focusing on their hands.

“Okay, I don’t mind _much_ ,” he amends. “You know we can get out of here. Go somewhere else.”

“Are you kidding? They have the best tacos here.”

“Oh, well, if it’s tacos.”

“Give me a sec, okay?” Darcy says pulling her hand free and standing up. Steve gets to his feet, as is proper. she rolls her eyes, but the smile curving across her pretty lips makes his heart beat a little faster. She turns on her heel and marches up to the minions at the corner table.

He can’t quite make out everything that Darcy says, her voice is pitched too low for him to hear against the music filtering from the speakers in the corners of the restaurant. The words that drift to his ears bleed from English to French to Mandarin seamlessly, with phrases in Sindarin and Klingon. Steve’s halfway through watching Star Trek: the Next Generation with Natasha. He wouldn’t have pegged her for a science fiction fan but apparently she once used a bat'leth on a trip of goons a mission in Indiana. Natasha kept the bat'leth as a souvenir and has a fondness for the franchise.

The minions hop down from the table with sheepish looks on their small yellow faces, gloved hands wringing. “Bi-do. Bi-do,”  the minions say and Darcy rocks back on her heels, one pale hand pointing at the door. The bell jingles cheerfully as they scramble through the door and out into the van. A few minutes later the van takes off down the street in a puff of blue black smoke.  Darcy twirls around, the skirt of her dress flaring out as she beams at him.

The tacos are good.

The burritos are better. He has two and orders a few more to take home for later.

They navigate their way through a minefield of no go topics. He doesn’t talk about his time as a tv dinner, or the time he spent in the stomach of a giant alien worm. Darcy doesn’t talk about her dad’s failure to make the top ten list of Supervillains but she does talk about music and science fiction novels.

Her whole face lights up when she talks, hands moving as she spins tales about her sisters, growing up with minions as babysitters, and rebelling from the family business. Steve forgets about the minions spying on them, her father, and the persistent ache in his lower back. Slipping off the chitinous back of a giant mutated beetle will do that to you, even with serum enhanced healing.

There is a trickle of warmth in his chest and for the first time in a long while he lets himself relax and enjoy the evening. Darcy steals bites of his flan and he demolishes the last half of her fried ice cream.

It’s not love that he feels but he is more than a little bit taken with her as he pays for dinner, after a small, mostly goodnatured, argument. He did eat more after all and there is the bag of tinfoil wrapped burritos to consider.  

Steve is also pretty sure the feeling in his stomach when she takes his hand as they reach the pavement has nothing to do with jalapeños or beans and everything to do with Darcy’s hand in his.

He does get to see her raygun, not a euphemism. Shining dully in the bottom of her purse like something out of a Buck Rogers story.

As dates go it’s one of the best he’s had. He wasn’t ditched by his date, doombots didn’t attack the block, he didn’t get slapped, and nothing exploded. Not yet anyway.

“Wooden nickel for your thoughts,” Darcy asks, swinging her hip into his thigh. He feigns missing a step, the plastic bag of food swinging between his fingers.

“Not sure they’re worth that much,” he says dryly. _Don’t ruin it_ , he thinks.

“Come on, Steve.”

“It’s been a...nice night.” _Smooth, Rogers, real smooth_ , he mentally chides himself.

“You were going to say swell there,” she says, jabbing her finger into his ribs and halting their walk in the yellow glow of a streetlight.

“No.”

“Okay, how about gas? Killer-diller?”

“You been sitting on that all night?”

“No...but there is a translation app for grandad speak. I thought it might come in handy.”

“You callin’ me old?”

“If the high waisted trousers fit.”

“Very funny,” he huffs. He hasn’t worn those since the first time he was on the helicarrier. There may still be a pair in the back of his closet. Natasha can pry those out of his cold, dead hands. Nothing wrong with a good pair of wool trousers.

“Thank you,” Darcy says low. Her eyes are on the zipper of his leather jacket and she rolls her lip between her teeth.

“For what?”

“For showing up and not running from the crazy trail that is my life.”

Steve raises his brows at her soft admission. “And mine isn’t?”

Three seconds later there is a commotion in the bushes beside the sidewalk and two minions roll out and onto the street.

“Muak muak muak,” the smaller minion says hopefully. The taller minion rolls his eye, at least Steve thinks that. Her should really pay more attention to Fury.

“God,” Darcy says, pulling her hand free of his and covering her face. It doesn’t do a damn thing to hide the brilliant red of her cheeks. “Barry, Gordon, go home now.”

“Mu...ak?” he asks.  Darcy shakes her head, fingers spreading so she can peek out. The minions wave, and make exaggerate kissy faces at him. Ah.

“Muak muak muak,” Barry whispers excitedly. Gordon hisses and smacks the other minion upside the head and begins to drag him around the back of a dark colored beetle. The volkswagen, not the mad scientist kind. The VW’s sporting a faded ‘I break for Avengers’ sticker on the back.

Steve grins, wraps his fingers around her slender wrist, bending down to drop a kiss on the back of Darcy’s hand. Her lips twitch up and he pulls her hand away. Darcy’s eyes shine in the streetlight, eyebrows arched in surprise. Steve kisses her again, a light brush of his lips on her cheek before covering her mouth with his. He keeps the kiss slow and closed mouthed.

It’s perfect.

Or it is for a few moments. An almighty cheer sounds and they are surrounded by minions with happy grins and grasping hands. Darcy laughs in embarrassment, full and bright, shoulders shaking and her forehead presses against his chest. Steve shakes his head ruefully. He can taste Darcy’s lipstick on his lips and can’t keep the stupid smile from his face as he gently bats a minion’s hand away from his ass.

  
  



	60. dollhouse (Steve, Maria Hill, Darcy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a Dollhouse gif set on tumblr that I tagged with some thoughts about if there was a Dollhouse au. Steve trying to find Bucky and knowing that he was taken by the people running a house, if not this specific one. So I wrote a teeny tiny ficlet. I'm not writing any more (says the author while crying into a stack of wips) but I enjoyed writing this little bit of flash fiction yesterday morning. I didn't quite imagine Darcy (Delta in this house) as full on Echo but who knows if they meddle in her mind enough.

"Captain Rogers," Hill says, a bland smile on her face. "Please have a seat."

"Agent Rogers. If it’s alright with you I’d rather stand," Steve says. He shifts his feet wide apart, hands loose at his sides fighting the urge to stand at parade rest despite having been out of the arm for years. 

"Suit yourself." Hill scrawls her signature on an form and sets pen and paper aside. Her eyes scan over Steve and he holds himself still, but for the ticking of his jaw. "You would make a rather lovely Active."

"No, ma’am, I’m not here for that. I can’t beat you. The FBI kicked me out for even trying. I here about Bucky…Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes. I’m here for the truth. I have nowhere left to go then to be here in your high tech whorehouse."

"Very well, Agent, but I think you have a deep misconception of what an Active is."

"I don’t-"

"You will let me finish, Agent."

"Yes, ma’am."

"They have been called zombies, cyborgs, even slaves. None of those are accurate. An active is a pure soul. The truest among us," Hill says as she pushes her chair back and steps around the front of her desk.

Steve doubts it, curls his fingers into his palms, nails digging into skin. “I’m in.”

Hill smiles, sharp as a blade. “Welcome to the Dollhouse, Agent Rogers.”

…..

"Everything’s going to be all right," Steve says slowly. He balls the slip of paper with the script in his fist, glances at Stark busily watching the monitors, and takes the active’s hand in his. Her hand is warm in his, soft fingers clutching at him. He felt ill. 

"Now that you’re here," the active says. Her name is Delta, but its not her real name. It’s just a letter with no meaning behind it. A girl with dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a far too trusting smile. Stark waves his hand at Steve

"Do you trust me?" he recites, each word forming slow on his tongue.

"With my life," she says, hand tightening on his. Her blue eyes are wide and trusting. Steve’s guts twists in anger, in guilt and shame. Delta smiles up at him and Steve smiles back. The smile is a lie but she doesn’t know that. God, what the hell was he doing here. 


	61. dance with me (Steve/Peggy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve visits a very frail Peggy on one of her better days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days ago I got the following prompt in my ask:
> 
> ~Lucid days were coming fewer and farther between for Peggy, but each day was treasured. When lucid days met those when Steve visited, there was magic. Today was a good day, a day long in coming. Before Steve knew it Peggy was on the edge of her bed. Her face inches from his, her hand groped beside her and then music filled the air. Her smile was as beautiful as always. "I might not be able to dance, but if you hold me tight we can sway. As long as I'm in your arms it's good enough soldier."~
> 
> The following is my response, written quickly in an attempt to get some words out today. It's not beta'd so whatever mistakes are there are so very mine. 
> 
> In my head this takes place before CA:TWS. *wanders off sniffling*
> 
> p.s. The Minion Verse is now it's own work [**here**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1618577) for those that asked. In case you didn't see it the other week.

Steve carefully wraps his arms around her and helps her to her feet. She weighs nothing in his arms, it twists something in his gut and his brows knit together. He fears she is too frail for him to hold with his clumsy hands. 

"I’m old, not made of spun glass, Captain," Peggy says, lips quirking, faded brown eyes twinking with amusement. 

"Yes, ma’am," Steve replies, tightening his arm around her. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips as he holds her to his chest, breathes in the scent of her. Roses, and face powder, and Earl Grey tea. He tries not to think about the other smells in the room, medicine and bleach. "Better?"

"Yes, I think this will do,"  she nods firmly. 

"Good," Steve says and if his voice cracks a little Peggy never says.

 The song ends and a new one begins, soft and lilting. She hums softly along with the music as they sway back and forth. For a few moments he closes his eyes and imagines a lifetime ago when he was stupid, she was young and Bucky hadn’t fallen. When the world was a different place, filled with different people. Now the world was filled with ghosts and remnants of hope. Hope that Steve still carried in his heart. 

"You were right."

"When was that?"

"When you said you didn’t know how to bloody dance," Peggy says taking her hand from his to pat his shoulder.

Steve’s eyes prick with tears, and he chuckles softly into the soft curls of her grey hair. “Captain America always tells the truth,” he says ruefully. 

"Now that I don’t believe for a moment, soldier," Peggy says. She reaches up to cup his cheek, brown eyes sparking.

They dance until Peggy  coughs hard, and Steve helps her back onto the bed. He fusses with the blankets and pouring her a glass of water. The radio is still playing as she falls asleep with a smile curving her mouth.  


	62. go to sleep little babe (Steve, Tony, Darcy, Clint)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever happened, it can't be a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last year I wrote [**lullabies for superheroes**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/688026) and I attempted to write a little bit more but after writing a few paragraphs the plotbunny died. I left the bit I wrote in my WIP folder in hopes of more. That isn't going to happen but I didn't want to throw the drabble away so I dusted it off and cleaned it up and here you go.

“Tony?” Steve calls out as he enters the lab cautiously, no alarms are sounding, no smoke belching out of a machine or flames reaching for the ceiling, even the music Tony plays is conspicuously absent. Stark is standing in the middle of the room muttering something to himself as he runs a hand through his hair looking vaguely lost. Two shattered coffee mugs lay on the floor by Tony’s feet. Shards of red, gold, and white swimming in a lake of coffee, wisps of steam curling in the air.

Whatever happened, it can’t be a good thing.

One of the smaller bots scurries out from behind a complicated piece of shining machinery to clean the puddle of coffee stretching out across the floor. Stark huffs at the bot, spreading his fingers wide then carefully stepping out of the way.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! Well something, but really S.H.I.E.L.D. shouldn’t have given Bruce the artefact to examine. I mean really it was just there.”

"What did you do, Tony?”

“Technically I didn’t do anything.” Tony says. DUM-E beeps cheerfully and pulls something soft and red out from under the worktable along the back wall. “No, no, no,” pipes up a small voice. “Well, almost nothing.”

Steve eyebrows hike up towards his hairline seconds before a toddler crawls out from under the desk. A halo of dark curls spiral out in all direction, big blue eyes narrow as she pulls ineffectively at the arm of Darcy’s red sweater. The baby’s jaw sets stubbornly and she bellows out, “No. Mines.”

“Why is there a baby in here? Does Miss Potts know about this?”

“I’m working on reversing the effects of the artifact,” Tony says waving his hands about.

“What effects?”

“We’ll get your girl back.”

“What?”

“Darcy.”

“She’s not my—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Steven,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. Steve clenches his jaw ready to argue, and the baby, Darcy, begins to sob. “DUM-E give Darcy her sweater back.”

“Darcy?” Steve says and the baby jumps, turning to look up at him fat tears rolling down her cheeks. The baby looks from Steve to the bot, drops the sweater and and takes a wobbly step towards him. She raises her chubby arms above her head, hands clasping open and closed.

“I can fix it,” Stark says. “I can turn her back...I think.”

“Steeb,” says the baby.

“This isn’t funny, Stark,” Steve says, frowning as the baby grasps his trousers with one small hand. He kneels down and the baby throws herself into his arms, sharp little nails scratching his neck as she clings to him.

“Here,” Tony says, holding out a tablet, tapping the screen to start a video playing. The video shows Darcy entering the lab in her red sweater, two mugs of steaming coffee in her hands. There’s a grin on her face as she greets DUM-E, and Tony. She’s still holding the coffee when a bright beam of emerald light flashes across the room to envelop Darcy. The coffee cups fall from her fingers, the light grows brighter until Darcy’s completely hidden. When the light fades a dark haired toddler is standing where Darcy had been.

“Darcy.”

“Steeb,” the baby, Darcy, cries into his shirt. Steve’s stomach sinks and he carefully wraps his arms around her.

"Okay, kiddo," Steve says rubbing her back in a circle, just like Mrs. Barnes used to do for Bucky's sister when they were kids, a lifetime ago. "Stark?"

“I’ll fix it.”

"Bad bot," Darcy says, lifting her head to glare at DUM-E. The bot drops it's arm, in what Steve supposes is a show of remorse, and holds the sweater out towards them.

Tony pulls the sweater out of DUM-E’s grasp, "Sorry about that, squirt."

“Bad,” Darcy says, burrowing her face into Steve’s neck. He sighs and takes the sweater draping it over Darcy's small back. One sleeve is damp and the whole thing smells of coffee but Darcy doesn’t seem to mind. She snuggles down in his arms, her wild fluffy curls tickling along his jaw.

"What the he...ck am I supposed to do?" Steve asks. He’s not entirely sure if he’s asking Tony or himself.

“Mind the baby,” Tony shrugs, picking up a bit of machinery, Steve can't even pretend he knows what it does.

“What’s going on? JARVIS said we were needed in the lab? I don’t see a fire,” Clint says, stepping into the room. “What did you do Stark?”

“Why does everyone blame me for everything?”

“Because you are the one most likely to cause explosions in the absence of Bruce hulking out,” Steve says dryly. Darcy lifts her head to stare at Clint, his shirt crumpling in the balls of her small fists.

“That is patently untrue. I have work to do here. Take the squirt and go, Cap, Birdbrain,” Stark sniffs, tossing a spanner on the table and focusing on a string of letters and numbers projected above his head.

“Who’s the brat? Is Pepper gonna cut your b--”

“Clint,” Steve barks. Darcy slaps her hand over his mouth face scrunching up.

“Too loud.”

“Sorry, Darcy,” he says pulling her hand away from his mouth.

“Darcy? No,” Clint says, sharp eyed gaze swinging from Darcy in Steve’s arms to Tony and back to meet Steve’s eye.

“Hog-guy,” Darcy pronounces slowly.

“Oh, shi...iny metal targets.”


	63. you mean you can't take less (Darcy, Bucky, Steve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy sees the ghosts of two old soldiers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'imagine a story wherein steve and bucky are ghosts (or astral projections while frozen, whatevs) and darcy can see and interact with them both but they can't see each other.' - Legete
> 
> Such an unbearably rude ask don't you think? Well I think so anyway. I started this little ficlet awhile ago but the plotbunny ate some poisoned carrots so I couldn't seem to write any more, so instead I added enough to tidy it up for posting so you have it here. I'm sorry I haven't been writing much lately, real life and my brain got in the way. Depression is an asshole but I've found a few words and haven't lost my writing, not yet anyway. 
> 
>  
> 
> "You mean you can't take less," said the Hatter: "it's very easy to take more than nothing." (Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll)

"Are you dead?"

 

"Don't be stupid, kid," the man says. He reaches up to brush his hair from his eyes. His arm flickers, vanishes, becomes a work of metal plates that whir and click. His face hardens, and the arm returns to flesh and blood. The man stares at his hand, mouth open in horror. Darcy clutches her stuffed fox, Mulder, tight to her chest.

 

"What's your name? My name's Darcy. Mama says I shouldn't talk to strangers, but she didn't say anything about ghosts."

 

"My name's...it's...it's," he frowns, shaking his head back and forth. The image flickers again. Ice in his long hair, frost sparking on his skin like diamonds. "It doesn't matter."

 

"S'okay, Mr. Ghost, grandpa doesn't remember me sometimes either. I'mma go on the swing now. Can you push me?"

 

"I can't," he says, hands spread out wide. Metal and flesh and nothing at all. He curses something low odd syllables that rattle around Darcy's head with no clear meaning.

 

"What's that mean?"

 

"Nothing good, kid."

 

"Was that swearing? Cause mama says you shouldn't swear. Mr. Rodriguez next door swears a lot, but that's in Spanish. Do you know Spanish?"

 

"No. I...gotta go."

 

"Okay, bye bye, Mr. Ghost," Darcy waves and makes the fox wave too.

 

....

 

"Are you a ghost too?"

 

"Too?"

 

"Like the man with the long hair and funny arm. It’s metal like the terminator, but I’m not supposed ta know that. Mommy says I’m not old enough to watch it," Darcy says, as she runs a small comb through her doll's hair. “Are you dead?”

 

"I don't know," he says, hunching down beside her on the blanket spread across the grass. His eyes are very blue, a line of worry cutting between them. He doesn’t cast a shadow on the red and blue plaid picnic blanket and if Darcy focuses her eyes she can see the swingset through him. "Where are we?"

 

"In my garden. That's my house there. I'm Darcy."

 

"Nice to meet you, Darcy. I'm Steve," he says holding his hand out. Darcy reaches out to shake his hand but her fingers pass right through his. "Sorry."

 

"S'okay. You can't help being a ghost."

 

"I guess not."

 

Darcy drops the doll and picks up a stuffed toy fox. "This is Mulder."

 

"Hello, Mulder."

 

"He's a toy, he doesn't talk," Darcy says, hugging the fox tightly. "Are you cold?"

 

"No."

 

"But your lips are blue."

 

Steve presses his fingers to his lips, and his image flickers. His tan jacket becomes red and blue as he looms beside the edge of her blanket.

 

"You look like a hero in a story book...or maybe like a hero in one of the movies my brother watches."

 

"I'm...not," Steve frowns, running a hand through his hair. "Tell me where we are again?"

 

"Don't you know where you are?"

 

"I got a little lost."

 

"Petaluma, California," she says, setting Mulder the fox down on the blanket. On a green plastic tray sits a cheerful pink plastic teapot, four red cups with yellow and orange flowers on the side, and a plate of plastic cookies. "Would you like some tea?"

 

"I don't think I-"

 

"It's only water. I don't put bad things in it." Darcy wrinkles up her nose at the thought and very carefully pours water from the teapot into the tiny red cups. "You're supposed to say thank you."

 

"Thank you," Steve says, smiling. He reaches for the cup and his fingers pass through it. His mouth tips down, lips pressed into a grim line.

 

"Where did you think you were if you didn't know you were here in my garden?"

 

"I...I was somewhere cold," he says, shivering and dropping his gaze to the four cups on the table. One cup is empty and the other three are full. “Who are the other cups for?”

 

“Yours and mine and this one is for Mulder...he can’t drink,” she says, pointing to the one in front of Mulder the fox.

 

“And the last cup.”

 

“S’for Mr. Ghost, but he can’t drink it right now.”

 

 _“Neither can I,_ ” Steve says, under his breath. He runs his hand through his hair and “Why can’t he drink it now?”

 

“Can’t you see? He’s got his mask on, silly,” she whispers. Loudly. Darcy tilts her head to the side carefully lifting the fourth cup and setting it down on the corner of the blanket farthest away from Steve.

 

“There’s no one there.”

 

“Course he’s there. Aren’t you, Mr. Ghost?” Darcy says, waving her hand at the man with the metal arm who sits sullen and silent, blue eyes wide and lost. The metal arm flickers and vanishes. Metal becomes nothing, becomes flesh, and metal once again. “Now drink your tea.”

  
  



	64. gasoline, saccharin (Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost Girl AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't start out as that but it was just a little snippet of fic that was sitting around and I didn't want to throw it away. So, yesterday I tweaked it and made a semi-nsfw [graphic](http://typhoidmeri.tumblr.com/post/92331299298/gasoline-saccharin-she-slips-among-the-shadows) to go with it. It's not long but I like the tone of it and writing is writing and even if I only added a little bit to it it counts. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, I haven't had a chance to reply to everyone but I will get there. But know that you made my days a little brighter and that is more than I could ever ask for.

She slips among the shadows, the very edge of the party, all that glitz and glamour, too bright and warm. People are dancing, standing in little clusters, laughing and mingling together. It’s torture. Darcy frowns down at the champagne flute in her fingers and glances back up at a loud peal of laughter coming from near the buffet.

“Hungry?”  Steve asks, tilting his head towards the buffet and the people crowding around it.

“What? No I’m fine,” Darcy says, far too quickly. She shakes her head and offering up a sweet smile.

It’s a lie. She’s starving. Skin dry, bones aching, and a hunger that claws at her insides. Makeup hides a multitude of sins.

It’s not food that she craves.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Oh? What do I look like?”

“Like you would do almost anything to get the hell out of here,” he says, eyes sweeping over the crowd. The left side of his mouth curls up and the fingers of his right hand rub against the dark fabric of his dress pants. She can feel the heat radiating off of his body and ignores the shiver of arousal trickling down her spine.

“And how do you know that?”

“It’s how I feel,” Steve grimaces, lifting the glass in his hand.

“You’re not wrong,” Darcy laughs, and nudges his arm with her shoulder. The fresh clean scent of soap and aftershave fills her lungs.

“I’m never wrong,” he says, with a flash of sharp white teeth. That smile spelled trouble, caps locked and double spaced. Darcy knew better than to run with wolves.

“I don’t buy that for a minute.”

“Let me walk you safely home.”

“It’s a dozen floors below us.”

Steve’s brows arch up, head cocking to the side. His eyes are dark and his lips pull back from his teeth in a feral smile that is nothing like the one in all his propaganda posters. “It’s late and the moon is full,” he says, reaching out to splay his hand across the small of her back.

“Fine.” She drinks the the last drop of  champagne in her glass, savouring the flavor of it as it fizzes on her tongue. She doesn’t think about what it would feel like to feed off of him. All that bright shining life force surging through her body, bright as the sun.

Her resolve lasts until the moment Steve crowds her against her door. His lips move over hers, one hand pressed flat against the door the other sliding into her hair making a mess of the carefully pinned curls.

Just a taste, she thinks as his teeth sink into her bottom lip. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his suit jacket, pulls him closer. She lets her power unfurl, sips at Steve Rogers’ life. He tastes like the woods. Green growing things. Dark shadows and sunshine. Bitter grief and want.

Predator and prey reversed.


	65. I’ve seen the paths that your eyes wander down (Darcy, Steve, Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's late at night at the coffee shop and Darcy should probably be studying when the doorbell chimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was thewriterchick's birthday yesterday and she prompted me for a Darcy/Steve or Steve/Darcy/Bucky coffee shop/college au. It's probably slanted more towards Darcy/Steve (because that's how I roll) but you can imagine whatever you wish. 
> 
> My brain was kind to me and I found these 900 odd words of fluff and flirting. (warning there is a little bit of blood as Bucky and Steve got into some trouble but no actual fighting is shown in the ficlet). I'm just pleased to have found words, the last few days have been good, for those that don't know I've been dealing with depression, its not an easy thing and I'm taking every small thing as a victory.
> 
> Links within the text are for wiki articles on some lady scientists. Because reasons. 
> 
> title from 'falling in love at a coffee shop' by Landon Pigg

The coffee shop is not a place Darcy would have normally worked, if she had the choice and didn’t desperately need the money.  The place was too full of hipsters and students for her liking, even though she was one of them. She loves working there anyway.

Mismatched wooden tables and chairs vied with three ancient couches for floorspace. The couches were her favorite despite the possibility of sinking into them and never climbing out of again. Behind the counter, the wall was covered in chalkboard paint, her boss’ relatively legible handwriting and Darcy’s own geometric doodles.

One wall of the cafe is papered in pages from a vintage astronomy book, with a single ornately framed reproduction star chart. The Star Huntress was the sort of place you wanted to curl up in and spend a day, or two reading one of the books stacked haphazardly in the bookcase covered back wall, or while away the hours using the free wifi. Today’s password was _‘[adalovelace’](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ada_Lovelace)_ , yesterday’s was _‘[murielwheldaleonslow’](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muriel_Wheldale_Onslow)._

The bell on the door jingles merrily and two boys shuffle in. The blonde is sporting a bloody lip and a swollen eye, the one with the dark hair is wiping a drop of blood from his nose with a bit of tissue, a smirk plastered across his face.

“Ten minutes till closing, guys,” Darcy says, barely looking up from her notebook. What she should be doing is working on her paper on animal stories for her mythology course. What she was actually doing was drawing a butterfly over her notes while she hummed along to the radio. What she was being paid to do was to make coffee and glower at her fellow students, something she excelled at if you asked her. Most people rarely did.

“We can go somewhere else, Bucky,” says the blonde, breathing raggedly.

“Girl said ten minutes,” Bucky grins, shoving the crumpled tissue into his pocket. “Two lattes and whatever cake you’ve got left, sweetheart.”

“Jerk,” mutters the blonde sticking his hands into the pockets of his jacket and pulling out an inhaler, giving it a quick shake before taking a puff.

“Watch the name callin’, I’m not the asshole that started a bar fight,” Bucky grins, wide and reckless.

Darcy narrows her eyes, tilting her her head to the side, “Weren’t you two in here the other day? Art student, [_Mercuriade_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mercuriade)sandwich with extra cheese and latte bowl? Steve, right?”

“Uh, yeah, that was me,” Steve says, reaching his hand up to run through his messy hair. He winces and shakes his hand out. The knuckles of both hands are red and swollen.

“Idiot.”

“And you,” she said pointing at Bucky, “Raspberry mocha, struck out with the redhead with the iced brownie latte with whip, no sprinkles, right?”

“No,” Bucky scowls.

“I don’t forget orders,” Darcy says, which isn’t even really true, but it’s close enough. “You can argue with me but it won’t get you cake.”

“S’fine,” Bucky says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Steve bursts out laughing clutching at his chest with his right hand. “Knock it off.” Bucky elbows Steve in the side  and pulls a wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Eight-fifty.”

“keep the change,” Bucky says, handing over a ten dollar bill.

So, tell me about this bar fight?” Darcy asks, plating up the last two slices of chocolate cake and setting the on the counter. She glances out the window but the street is empty in the halo of light from the nearest streetlight.

“Nothin’ to do with me, sweetheart, ask the idiot with the fat lip,”  Bucky shrugs, leaning casually against the countertop. Darcy looks between Steve and Bucky and back again.

Steve looks at her with wide blue eyes, eyebrows raised in  the picture of angelic innocence. Or it would have been if his eyes didn’t skate off to the right and the left corner of his mouth didn’t tick up. He winces and presses the pads of his fingers below the swelling of his lip, the movement shifts the sleeve of his t-shirt and she is given a tantalising glimpse of ink on his upper arm.

“A girl at the bar said no and some fuck had less sense that a damn dog,” Steve says, eyes bright and defiant.

“Did your Lois thank you for your amature heroics?”

“Uh, we didn’t really hang around to see,” Steve says sheepishly.

“What loverboy means is we got thrown out on our asses first,” Bucky says, pinching a bit of cake off one of the plates and popping it into his mouth.

“Yeah, that too,” Steve mutters, the tips of his ears turning red. “I didn’t catch your name,” Steve says, and Darcy snorts, and jerks her head to the little gold framed chalkboard perched on the counter. ‘ _Today your Barista is: Darcy. Be nice, because she won’t be.’_  is scrawled in blue chalk with an angry face with jagged teeth doodled in the bottom left corner. “Darcy.”

“That’s me.”

“So, how’d you know I was an arts major?”

“You had oil paint on your shirt, and spent two hours sketching before your friend walked in,” Darcy says, focusing on pulling shot after shot of espresso. She can feel both of them watching her and rolls her lips between her teeth, willing her face not to turn red. “S’my job,” she shrugs, and sets their lattes down on the counter.


	66. A scattering of stars (Steve/Darcy, Groot)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lovely readers, it's been awhile but I found some spare words in my pockets this morning. Not many mind you, but enough for a bit of fluff. This started as some tags I wrote on a tumblr post so all I really had to do was pad words around the bones. It's unbeta'd but I tried to catch everything. 
> 
> Depression is still a bitch and a half but I've had some good days. and today I found words so that is a win in my book. 
> 
> P.s. the lovely blackglass has podfic'd the minion verse ([here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2117463)) so you should all go give it a listen and tell her (and me) what you think because she is fantastic and it made my day so much brighter.

“I am Groot.”

“I don’t know what that means, pal, but thanks,” Steve says  hunching over with his elbows on his knees, fingers dangling loose between his legs.

“I am Groot,” Groot says softly, or as softly as a medium sized Ent can, as he pats Steve on the shoulder and finds a corner to settle down in. Steve wonders if it’s rude to stare as Groot’s branches spread out across the metal wall.

He flicks his eyes out to the port window but he doesn’t really see the view, mind still stuck on the image of Darcy and Quill flirting and dancing. He’s annoyed with himself for  letting his emotions get the better of him. He had absolutely no right to feel jealous when Darcy wasn’t his girl,even though that is an old fashioned sentiment that didn’t belong in the future. The future, he muses, really  couldn’t get more in the future than they were.  At least Groot was leaving him to brood in peace. Steve is so far lost in thought he never hears the door open.

“Space penny for your thoughts,” Darcy says as she slips into his hidey hole. Not that he was hiding, much.  

“Are there pennies in galactic currency?” Steve asks brow quirking up as he shifts to the side.  

“I have no clue.”

“I am Groot,” Groot rumbles from his corner.

“Sure are, buddy,” Darcy smiles and perches on the bench beside Steve her arm brushing against his. “You’re being weird, Rogers.”

“We slipped through a wormhole in space, travelled in a spaceship to a mining colony of outlaws that just so happens to be the remains of the skull of a creature beyond imagining, filled with aliens, a sentient tree, no offence Groot ,”   he says looking up and offering Groot a sheepish wave. “…and my silence is weird.”

“Well, when you put it that way. But really what have you got against… _Star-Lord_ .”

“he really calls himself that?”

“I’ve heard worse, Captain America, probably called people worse too,” Darcy grins and bumps her shoulder against  his.

“True enough.” Steve says the left side of his mouth hitching up. They sit in silence side by side eyes fixed on the portal showing the planet the orbit and a glimpse of distant stars .  Darcy’s hand brushes against his and Steve returns the touch until their fingers tangle together and Steve’s heart rattles against the cage of his ribs . “Not that I want you to go, but aren’t you meant to be assisting Dr Foster?”

“Eh, Thor took her off to see some stars, before she turned _Bright Heart_ into a handbag for messing with her equipment,” Darcy says, her face scrunched up and she darted her eyes up to his. “Totally not a euphemism.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, staring out the small portal at the purple clouds beyond the colony. Steve’s heart speeding each time Darcy’s thumb rubs again his hand. Groot is quiet in the corner mouthing at a new leaf growing on his arm.

Darcy squeezes his hand tight, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “That’s gross.” Her lips brush against the shell of his ear and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Yeah it is,” Steve whispers back, into the loose waves of her dark hair. Darcy shivers and Steve’s mouth spreads into a wide grin.

“You never said what you have against, Peter,” she asks, curious eyes on his face. Steve drops his eyes to their hands, focusing on the chipped blue nail polish on her fingers. The sound of Groot’s snoring echoes through the room, There is something far too disturbing to think about a walking tree snoring like a chainsaw.

“Nothin’,” he says finally bringing his eyes up to hers. Darcy lips compress into a thin line and she tilts her head to the side, dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. “What?”

“Did you just lie to me?”

“No,” he says, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into his bottom lip, or hers. The image of kissing her flits behind his eyes and he glances down at her pink lips.

“Oh no you don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Get to distract me with kisses.”

“Is that what I was doing?” he asks, brows shooting up in, mostly feigned, surprise. She hums and moves to cross her arms, but her hand is still in his and the movement is awkward. Darcy’s cheeks heat up and she huffs out a little breath, her fingers clasping tighter to his hand. “What if I admit that I felt… a little jeal-,”

“Shut up.”

“You just-”

“Shut up,” Darcy says slapping her free hand over his mouth. Steve’s eyebrows raise and he is considering flicking his tongue out across the flat of her palm when she pulls her hand away and and presses her mouth to his. They kiss with a cloud of stars and a sleeping tree as witness.


	67. the edge of the map (Darcy, Jane)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've probably all forgotten about me and my little stories now, it feels like forever since I found words. It' not quite forever, I wrote this little ficlet today and I have been working on another Darcy/Steve ficlet but it needs a second and possibly third draft before it's good enough to share. It's nice to just be able to find words again. Depression is a big bag of dicks and though I know many of you follow me on tumblr there are some of you that don't. Finding a few words again has made me feel a bit more like myself, I'm still struggling but its nice to have good days again. 
> 
> This ficlet was from the prompt "Darcy finds a dragon's egg, but doesn't know quite what it is - she keeps it next to her ipod speakers." - Anon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this little bit of fluff. I wish I had more to share with you.

The edge of the map is not the end of the world, and dragons live within the borders as well as the edges. At least there were dragons in any map that wasn't Darcy's. At the age of six and three quarters, more or less, she scattered pennies across the backyard. Bright shiny pennies she collected from between the sofa cushions and in the parking lot of the corner store.

 

Darcy slept in the garden with a butterfly net, but no dragon ever came to visit her, but Mr. Otaku's roses were eaten by a small swarm of blind wyrms, that spit acid and burrowed under the fence and started the neighborhood dogs barking in the small hours before the sun rose.

 

Despite the absence of dragons in her own life, Darcy still loves their stories, and she watched David Attenborough’s _Living with Dragons_ documentary, with dragons big as houses and one as long and her elementary school. Reruns of _Little House on the Prairie_ were her absolute favourite, with Laura and her tiny brindle scaled dragonette Jack.

 

There is a dragon fund hidden amongst the books neatly stacked on a shelf in the tiny apartment she now calls home, and a silver dipped dragon’s scale pendant she wears next to her heart. But Darcy’s favorite possession is a small replica dragon’s egg that she bought for twenty-five cents at an estate sale two days before she went off to college.  

 

The egg was no larger that a goose egg, slate grey in color with an ancient ‘Made in Wales’ sticker half rubbed off on the bottom. She keeps the egg nestled safe between the speakers of her ipod sitting on Darcy's cluttered desk in Jane’s haphazard lab space. The lab is not a safe space, accidents happen, and more often than not when you work for a brilliant astrophysicist smitten with a demigod.

 

Jane doesn’t start the fire, not this time, but the back wall of the lab is incinerated.

 

“My equipment,” Jane says, frowning as they pick through the charred remains of the lab.

 

“It’s Stark’s fault he can buy you new toys,” Darcy says, tossing a shattered coffee cup into a trash bag. "Don't you think SI could afford to have people clean this up for us."

 

"Darcy, no," Jane says, pointing in Darcy's direction. "I'm not having..."

 

"Stark's hands all over your equipment?" Darcy says, tossing a bit of (only slightly) scorched metal in a box marked 'useful' in Jane's near impenetrable scrawl. "You don't pay me enough for this."

 

"I don't pay you at all, SI does," Jane says, splashing through a puddle of inky black water. "I think I can fix this."

  
  


"Not likely," Darcy says, wrinkling her nose at the smell of melted plastic as drops the twisted lump of her ipod into the trash bag. The plastic stand for the dragon egg is melted to the table but the egg looks untouched, until Darcy picks it up. The egg is cracked "Oh, no." Darcy cries running her gloved thumb over the cracks on the surface of the egg. The egg is warm in the palm of her hand. A fragment of shell splinters off the egg, it wobbles in her hand, and a faint scratching sound can be heard. "Uh, Jane?"

 

"Not now, Darce."

 

"Jane?"

 

"Look you can put a iPod on the requisitions sheet."

 

"Jane!"

 

"What?"

 

"I've waited my whole life to say this... it's alive."

 

"I told you to stop watching those Syfy channel original movies."

 

"No, like, it's really alive," Darcy says, cradling the egg close to her chest. The egg rocks in her palm and a tiny egg-tooth pushes up through the fractured shell. "Oh my god."

  
  



	68. here be dragons (Darcy, Jane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the dragon verse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you were all so lovely and encouraging with the last chapter that was an utter ball of fluff I managed to talk my muse into a little bit more. It's nice to have a few words even if they are fluffy, it makes me feel a little more like myself and less light the shell that depression left me. Today was a good day I found words and managed to do some of the house work and my CBT thought record (well a bit of it anyway).

part two of the dragon au started [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/5184212)

....

“This coffee tastes funny,” Jane says, absently jotting down notes and ignoring the BLT beside her. The sandwich and its plate were currently buried under a star chart, a charred notebook, and two folders, with various important and official SI stickers on them.

“That’s because it’s leaf water.”

“What?” Jane says, staring suspiciously into her cup.

“It’s tea.”

“Is it?” Jane blinks and Darcy fails to keep her eyes from rolling. “Did you even wash the cup, Darce?”

“Myfanwy? Lysanor?”Darcy asks the dragon, her eyes flicking back and forth from the dragonet to the list of Celtic Female Names of Wales. “What about Ariene? That means silvery and you my little dragon are grey,” she coos rubbing her fingers over the dragon’s belly. The dragon grasps at her index finger and ignores her words completely.

“I really need coffee, Darcy.”

“Yeah, no. No more coffee for Dr. Foster today,” Darcy says scrolling back to the top of the list of names. “Idris?”  The little dragon hiccups and wiggles in the cradle of her lap, tail wrapping tight around Darcy’s wrist. “You like that name don’t you?”

Idris chirps once, foggy grey eyes focusing on Darcy’s wiggling fingers. The dragon squirms in her lap, rolling over onto her back offering up her pale belly. The scales of her belly are an off-white color that might be eggshell or Phantom Mist, or a lovely shade of Song of Summer, blending into to the heather grey coloring of her back.

The little dragon was a  _rock dragonet_ , sometimes known as a pebble lizard for their ability to blend in with the color of their surroundings, much like a chameleon or octopus would do. Pebble lizards were native to the British Isles, grew no larger than a large housecat and were not one of the commonly kept housedragons. They (rock dragonets) tended to be far more troublesome pets than lesser spotted forest dragons which made the best mousers, dog sized red drakes, who were kept as watchdragons, or tiny dragonflies that grew no larger than a mouse, that were often found in the homes that could afford them. Dragons were not cheap, not the little ones, and especially not the larger ones that were kept as companions and workdragons.

“Idris,” Darcy says, holding up her iPhone and Idris yawns, jaws opening wide and pink tongue curling in a perfect circle. Darcy awkwardly snaps a picture with her left hand, cooing quietly as she rapidly adds tags (  **#dragonsofinstagram  #sleepylildragonet  #socuteithurts  #rawr**  ) to the photo and posts it to instagram.

“You know you can’t keep it,” Jane says absently sipping from her mug of tea and grimacing slightly. “Why is there tea in my coffee cup?”

“Her name is Idris, and she’s mine. And you have tea because you haven’t slept for four days, since the lab became toast.”

“I meant you can’t keep it in here.”

“It’s our lab.”

“No, it’s the lab we are borrowing while mine is being fixed. You need to leave her at home.”

“She’s a baby she needs to be fed every couple of hours.”

“Get a sitter then,” Jane says waving a hand in Darcy’s direction.

“Jane you barely pay me, how am I supposed to afford a dragonsitter? Didn’t you ever want a pet?”

“Darcy, please, I’m trying to work here.”

“Can I keep here here as long as she doesn’t cause any trouble?”

“No.”

“What if I get you more coffee?”

“Fine, whatever, just get me coffee.”

“I can do zat,” Darcy says, mile wide grin lighting up her face. “You hear that, Idris, you can stay.” She lifts the dragonet from her lap and drops a kiss on top of her head head. The dragon is entirely nonplussed and nuzzles sleepily against her chin.

“Coffee!”

“On it, boss lady,” Darcy says, tucking the sleepy dragon into her cleavage beneath the fall of her grey and teal knit cowl. Idris chirps once as she settles into Darcy’s warmth, clutching at the knit fabric of her second favorite green cardigan, and the lace edge of her bra.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idris' name came from Idris the body the Tardis takes over in Doctor Who, the fantastic Idris Elba, and because it's Welsh origin (it means Fiery Lord). Oh and there was a British children's show called Ivor the Engine that had an Idris the Dragon. 
> 
> Oh and I may have plotted out some notes, and even a little bit of dialogue, for a third part of this verse with our favourite spangly tights wearing super soldier showing up. Priorities I have them.


	69. building forts (Steve/Darcy, with a side of Sam and Darcy as bros)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy smooths her red sweater down over her bump, absently toying with a loose thread near the hem. Maybe she shouldn’t have cupcakes and ice cream, but she was already as big as a house, and eating for two, so fuck the calorie count till later when she can properly wallow in post gorging guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a bit of extra sugar with your Hallmark Holiday. 
> 
> It's been a while since I finished anything, but this little plot bunny started from some tags I wrote on a tumblr post and I couldn't shake the bunny till I wrote them. Nothing wrong with a bit of fluff, right? 
> 
> Thank you, Aenaria, for beta'ing, and to Katy for not giving up on me for all the coma inducing sugar I have been writing lately. It's still writing and it still counts. I still feel slow as hell writing things, my focus has drifted a bit lately but I am, if not on an up, then at least on a better level than I was at. Still fighting each day and trying to be kinder to myself and not listen to depression and anxiety. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this little bit of fluff. It does sort of belong in one of my verses, but it's probably something that will never get as far as this. *wanders away with mysterious smile*

                                                                

"DeeDee, I need you to come see something," Sam says, grabbing at the bags in Darcy's hands and following her into her apartment.

 

"It's not office hours. No can do, Wilson."

 

"It's not an Avengers thing. I swear to Thor."

 

"That's what they all say. FYI you need to stop saying that."

 

"I swear to Thor or calling you DeeDee?" Sam grins, setting the bags on the coffee table and peeking in the one from Steve’s favorite bakery.

 

"What do you think? and hands off the goods," she says, slapping his hand away from the bag. She misses, rolling her eyes at Sam's beaming grin. "Look, Samuel, my feet hurt and the only place I am going is to get my jammies on and rescue the last carton of Ben & Jerry's from behind the frozen corn, before I Skype Rogers." she mentally adds cupcakes to the list but Sam really doesn’t need to know her future calorie intake.

 

"Nobody eats frozen corn."

 

"Duh," Darcy smirks, unwinding the damp scarf from around her neck and looping it over the hook beside her coat. "And Steve likes frozen corn."

 

"He doesn't count."

 

"You're telling me that Captain America is weird?"

 

"I didn't say that, but it's true enough. I don't know how you can stand to live with him."

 

"Well..."

 

"Nope. No, nada. Do not want to know," Sam says making a cutting motion with his hands. "So...?"

 

"No."

 

"What if I told you I left James in charge of my sister's kids?"

 

"The boys?" She asks, eyebrow raising as she wiggles her toes free of her shoes. The boys, Alexander and Daniel were eleven and nine, and fully capable of fending for themselves, she did not need to play hero today. It was not in her job description. Darcy smooths her red sweater down over her bump, absently toying with a loose thread near the hem. Maybe she shouldn’t have cupcakes and ice cream, but she was already as big as a house, and eating for two, so fuck the calorie count till later when she can properly wallow in post gorging guilt.

 

"The twins."

 

She should probably steam some veggies...

 

"Wait. Why the hell didn't you just open with that? You seriously need to stop hanging around with spies and withholding pertinent information," Darcy says, smacking Wilson's arm. The twins weren't bad, but they were smart and adorable and had a way of causing nearly as much trouble as any of the Avengers. Darcy rocks up on her toes, considering adding more tea to her her plan of demolishing the cupcakes in the pretty blue bag, verses watching Bennett and Cadence tame a semi domesticated super soldier with all the guile and magic a pair of seven year olds could have.  As cute as the girls were, she was incredibly happy that there was only one little parasite growing beneath her heart. "Please tell me I don't need shoes."

 

"You don't need shoes."

 

"Thank God. Let me feed the cat, wherever she is hiding."

 

"Done."

 

"You fed the cat? She hates you."

 

"Not me, James fed her. And she doesn't hate me. We had a disagreement."

 

"Okay, now I'm worried. Steve's out on a mission for another sixty two hours and Barnes is back and losing his shit. I don’t have an app for this."

 

"Nah, s'all good. Cross my heart," Sam grins, rubbing his hands together.

 

"Okay, you're scaring me now," Darcy says, clutching her phone to her chest. It's not that she was scared. Well, there was plenty to be scared of, but Bucky wasn’t on the list. Oh, he could be scary as shit, if you were on the wrong side of his crosshairs, but the cat turned to butter in his hands, and his arm seemed to only attract kids, and Avengers-in-training-pants. The magnets Clint threw at him never stuck. Add to that the fact that she was ninety nine point six percent certain Steve and Bucky's moontimes were in perfect rhythm. Assholes. Sam included, in a good way. Mostly.

 

"Hurry up before we miss them braiding James' hair with pretty princess hair bows."

 

"You bought them pretty princess hair bows didn't you?"

 

"No, that'd be my sister."

 

Wilson's apartment is almost eerily silent, a trail of candy wrappers and crushed goldfish crackers leading from the living room down the hallway. She can almost feel the force of Sam's frown but it's got nothing on the Captain's disappointed face.

 

"You know, I...." Darcy starts when her words are cut off by giggling. "Okay, creepy." The giggling is followed by a bark of laughter from as they reach the spare bedroom.

 

The first week he visited the tower Bucky hardly spoke two words, and he and Steve did this weird dance of mother hen and baby chick. She still wasn't sure which was which. Later when Steve lost his temper and stormed out of an overly polite dinner in a cloud of expletives, it was the first time she heard Bucky laugh.  He laughed till his eyes welled with tears, and Steve came storming back into the room, all the wind taken from his sails in the face of his best friend laughing at him.

 

"That is the saddest excuse for a pillow fort I've ever seen," Bucky laughs.

 

Darcy steps over a juice box bleeding out on the carpet. The smile starting to curve across her lips falters when she steps into the open doorway, and her heart stops.

 

Steve's lying in a nest of blankets, pillow feathers stuck to his lower lip, hair stuck up in all directions, streaks of pink glitter in his beard and across his right cheek.

 

"You think you can do better, Buck?" Steve asks, eyes crinkling with laughter as the twins crawl over him.

 

"It's not saddest...is it?" asks Bennett, her hands sparkling with pink glitter as she tugs on Steve's arm.

 

"The glittery nail crap and makeup, now? That was all me," Sam grins in delight, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Darcy blinks back tears. "Oh, shit," she whispers low, smacking her hands over her mouth. Not low enough for super soldier hearing though. Bucky and Steve's heads swing around to face her in that weird as fuck way they so easily fell into sync with one another. It was weird as fuck and it was oddly reassuring that both were human.

 

Steve's eyes lit up as he took her in, and Darcy felt herself flush. He bent his head down to whisper conspiratorially with Cadence and Bennett.

 

The girls jump up, as if springs were attached to their heels, and advance on Bucky, little fingers wiggling, matching mischievous smiles on their faces. Steve rolled effortlessly to his feet, with more grace than Darcy ever had, and especially not since she started looking like she swallowed a bowling ball.

 

"Missed you," Steve rumbles.

 

"You aren't supposed to be home. We have a Skype date," she blurts out as Steve enfolds her in his arms. He's careful, holding her like she's some delicate piece of art. Darcy huffs into his shoulder and Steve's arms tighten around her. It feels awkward and like home all at once. She digs her nails into her palms in an attempt to keep her tears from falling. It works about as well as she expects it to.

 

"Mission ended early, so I thought I'd come home," Steve says, pulling back to look her over.  "Didn't expect to get ambushed on my way."

 

"You're home and I don't care that your friends are all a-holes," she says rolling up on her toes to fit their mouths together. Darcy curls Steve's hand over her bump.

 

"So, Happy Valentine's Day?"

 

"It was yesterday."

 

"So you don't want your presents?"

 

"I didn't say that. Gimme," Darcy grins, shifting their hands over to where the baby's foot is pushing out. Steve's brows knit together, and Darcy wills the baby to tap his or her toes again.

 

"Wow."

 

"I know, right?" Darcy says, flicking her gaze over to the twins leading Bucky to his execution...er, prettification, as Cadence was calling it, while Sam dutifully played assistance.

 

She carefully raises the corner of her sweater and Steve shifts his hand to spread his fingers wide over her skin. "You have to watch," she orders, pulling his hand down.

 

"Watch for what..." Steve's voice trails off as the baby kicks out, the perfect impression of a foot appearing above Steve's hand. "Oh."

 

"It's gross and awesome all at once."

 

"It's not gross," he says, tracing his fingers over the tiny heel through her skin. Steve's nails are painted a dark blue with octagonal pieces of silver glitter catching the light.

 

"You can say otherwise when you are waddling around looking like you inhaled all the pies." Darcy pokes him in the belly, and Steve's abs jump under her fingertips. "Oh, that reminds me..."

 

"You're not doing it right. Uncle Sam, tell him he has to let us paint his nails," Bennett pleads.

 

"Cap'n's orders. You have ta play Beauty Parlor with us," Cadence adds. "Right, Cap'n?"

 

"That's right, Cadence, Bennett. Bucky needs a makeover," Steve says, grinning wide but not taking his eyes off Darcy.

 

"You're gonna pay for this, buddy," Bucky grumbles good naturedly.

 

Sam snorts and hands the girls bottles of glittery nail polish. "Which color do you think is best? Red or Gold?"

 

"None?" Bucky says hopefully.

 

"Purple," Darcy laughs.

 

Steve kisses her again, cutting off the spill of words from her mouth. It's a soft thing, gentle and teasing, with just enough heat to steal her breath and curl her toes.  Steve's fingers thread through her hair and his teeth sink into her bottom lip. "Love you."

 

"Love you too, now I think you promised me presents."

 

"Did I?"

 

"Go ahead and be an ass. I didn't plan on sharing my cake anyways."

 

"Well, if there's cake on the line."


	70. Quill (Darcy, Jane, Peter Quill, Groot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fill for the following prompt: 
> 
> lostdaemon asked:  
> Peter Quill's mom died because of Darcy, his little sister. At least that's what it felt like to him as a kid. His mom refused treatment for so long so she could deliver Darcy whole and healthy. Peter didn't understand everything, but he thought he understood enough. Darcy wasn't even out of neo-natal when their mom died. Their mom knew her time was short and made several tapes for them both. When they finally meet again, Darcy has more tapes to give him. They bond and heal over mix tapes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't quite go the way I thought, and maybe another day I will write more, but for now this is what's been rattling around my head this week. The prompt just sat in my ask box for around six months. I promise to sort out some replies tomorrow, its been a bit of a bad week for me, but I wrote one word after another and that is good. Its hard to say that sometimes, most of the time. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Thanks go to Aenaria and thewriterchick for beta reading this, any other mistakes are all mine. 
> 
> fyi there is a gif in here as I copied and pasted it from my tumblr (typhoidmeri if you didn't know)

Darcy is twenty five when she meets her brother for the second time in her life, or at least that is how the math works out. She can’t stop fidgeting with the earbuds tangled in her pocket, and the plastic toggles of her navy coat. Anxiety spikes, and she tells it to merrily fuck off.

"You okay, Darce?" Jane asks, voice pitched low enough the group ahead doesn’t hear. Jane’s cold fingers lace with hers, and she gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. Steve turns his head to glance back at them, brow furrowed. As if their fearless leader didn’t have enough to worry about.

Darcy tilts her chin up and rolls her eyes halfheartedly. “Supergreen,” she says, voice falsely sweet. “Just another day, walking on the decayed head of a giant space corpse.”

"About to meet your maybe brother for the first time," Jane says knowingly.

"It’s not the first time. I just don’t remember the first time."

"Darcy…"

"I’m fine, Jane."

“Nobody is ever fine when they say they are.”

Darcy sighs, its a fine time for Jane’s empathy to act up. “Shouldn’t you be sciencing it up? I mean alien…planet? Asteroid? Skull? With honest to blog spaceships, aliens, and stars. Jane look at the stars,” she says pointing at some sort of advertising billboard with a bowl of something with a galaxy of stars swirling above it if you squinted and looked through the graffiti scrawled all over it.

Jane opens and closes her mouth, and sighs. She squeezes Darcy’s hand tighter. For someone with tiny birdlike hands Jane has one hell of a strong grip. The smile Darcy gives in return is almost real. She might even thank Jane when the day is over and they are all sitting in some tavern in Asgard with horns full of ale or mead, or whatever massive Viking dudes drank to numb their sorrows.

She really was fine, or so far past it that she didn’t know the difference.

Darcy felt like her internal organs were covered in a layer of thick frost. Everything felt numb and a little surreal. She was there, bone and flesh beneath her boots, an astrophysicist clinging to her side, and a group of Avengers between her and…some Tolkien level bullshit.

Technically she wasn’t there, neither was Jane, but science and Thor… And well, Thor rarely said no to Jane.

"Oh my God," Jane gasps, followed by word vomit of the variety that meant Darcy never played Words With Friends with the plucky scientist. Ever. "If I could get a sample for Betty."

"No, Jane, you are not going to ask to molest Grandmother Willow’s alien brethren," Darcy hisses, pulling Jane back from edging forward. "Bad, scientist."

Darcy’s words feel normal as they leave her tongue, sarcastic and snappy, and the rest of her wishes she felt as normal as that. If she thought facing down the destroyer, space elves, and Thor’s douchecanoe brother had made her jaded to weirdness then she was so wrong.

The numbness of possibly meeting her trufax brother is the only thing that keeps her standing when faced with the rogue cast of Saturday Morning Cartoons put through a psychopath filter.

Not that she has any stones to throw, routinely hanging out with scientists (both post lab accident and pre-caffeination), an alien (sex) god who had the right to wear a spangly tiara, and assorted mutants, and that one time Steve came over to dinner. God she made an ass of herself that night. Darcy fights to keep her eyes from straying to find Captain Rogers. She really had enough to deal with today. Maybe too much.

She was starting to rethink this whole tagging along to meet a dude with her brother’s name. Darcy considered herself good in a crisis. Took  pride in her potential as a future sidekick if Jane became any more super than her brain already was….and, you know if Darcy was comfortable wearing kinky boots and spandex with a boob window on a nightly basis. Ugh, probably not.

There can’t be that many Peter Jason Quills out there in the galaxy, can there?

This was probably not one of her better ideas.

She really should have thought about this a little more than she actually did.

….

As meet and greets go, it’s one of the better ones. Far less damage than the last science nerds convention, where Betty and Jane got plastered and attempted to turn the espresso machine in the bar into some sort of time machine, or something that Darcy wanted no part of. She instagrammed the hell out of it though. They ended up burning a hole through four floors of the hotel the convention and Jane cold cocked a supposed former SHIELD agent that was slumming it as hotel security.

She didn’t even want to think about when Jane dragged her, kicking and screaming to meet Tony Stark.

Yeah, no.

….

"I am Groot," rumbles a deep voice pulling Darcy out of her thoughts. .

"Good to know, big guy," Darcy says. She internally apologises to Thor for using his nickname for someone…something else. But really, dude was a fucking tree.

How did that even work? He eyes were kind, or maybe just the tilting of his head made him seem not so frightening. It really was a good thing that the apple trees from the Wizard of Oz never gave her nightmares when she was a kid. A really good thing.

Groot holds out his his hand, gnarled and dark. The tiniest flower blooms from his palm, pale and delicate. “I am Groot,”  Groot says, voice softer, and no longer the sound of tumbling boulders. Groot plucks the flower from his palm and offering it to Darcy with a smile that cracks his face in two.

"Oh, er, thank you, Treebeard,” Darcy smiles back holding the tiny flower in her hand.

“I am Groot,” Groot says turning his attention to Captain Rogers, or rather the shield strapped to Captain America’s back.

“Sure you are, buddy,” Darcy thinks, twirling the flower held between her fingers.

"Pssst, Jane. Jane. rotting skull planet to Dr. Foster," she whispers tugging on Jane’s sleeve and distracting her from wandering off in the name of science. "Are you seeing this?"

"Oooh, pretty," Jane murmurs.

"Groot grew it for me. Correct me if I’m wrong, and I know you will, but I took biology in high school. I know what flowers are."

"That’s…okay, yeah, ew," Jane says, rifling through her pockets. Moments later she pulls a sample vial from thin air, like some amature magician at a children’s party performing tricks for a sad eyed pony in a party hat. The flower goes into the vial and the vial disappears into Jane’s coat.

A flash of red catches Darcy’s eye, between [Tanuki](http://bettermyths.com/tanukis-have-big-balls/), the raccoon god, and green lady with the dip dyed hair.

Her stomach drops somewhere around her boots. It’s not difficult to figure out who Peter Quill is, but she still tries to see the boy, from the polaroids in a photo album, in the man smiling and raking his eyes over her.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she murmurs, low enough that only Jane can hear. God when did she turn into such a pathetic loser, anyway?

"Well, hello there, I’m Peter. Peter Quill, people call me Star-Lord," Peter says, charming smile lighting up his face as he straightens up to his full height, leather jacket creaking. It was a nice leather jacket, all swishy and long, it was a trope she admired in heroes and space cowboys. Were there cows in space? Like Pigs in Space but more bovine-y?

He’s tall, they are all tall really, everyone but her and Jane, his movements are leisurely, an almost giddy look crossing his face. His fingers tap out some rhythm only he can hear. A pair of gross looking old school headphones hang around his neck.

"Was your mother Meredith Quill from Missouri?" Darcy blurts out and mentally face palms. God, awkward much.   
  
"Hey…what?" Star-Lord asks, smile slipping from his face.

In for a penny, in for…well, a really bad decision.  
  
"Meredith Quill? Just answer the question please," Darcy says, curling her hands into fists.   
  
"Listen, sweet cheeks, I don’t know where you got my mom’s name from but you-"

"Oh, thank god, or Thor. Whatever."  
  
"What the hell is going on?"  
  
"I’m your sister."

"My sister? I don’t-"

“Darcy.”

Darcy’s never been great at keeping her thoughts to herself, her mouth didn’t so much have a mind of it’s own and no mind at all. Or at least no sense of self preservation. Later she will swear it was like somebody flipped a switch in her brain, and instead of what she planned to say words tumble from her mouth in an unstoppable torrent. “I was only a few months old when you…disappeared. The same day she died…I..I’m sorry…

“You should…you should know that there’s an empty grave, with your name carved into the stone beside Meredith’s…mom’s. I was six when they had the funeral for you. I didn’t cry but Grandpa did.

“When I was little I always wanted to believe you were on an adventure. Went to be a spy, or joined the circus, to find your dad, maybe find my dad, Go find dinosaurs in California or space camp. I guess that last one is half true, ‘cause here you are. I dreamed that you would come back for me, so I could meet you, but you never did.”

“Now, wait just a minute—”

“I waited my whole life.” Tears well in her eyes but they do not spill. She doesn’t know his face, doesn’t know him. She didn’t know what she expected of this meeting, not from the moment she heard Thor say ‘Peter Quill, he that calls himself the Lord of the Star’, nay, the Star-Lord.’ Small galaxy after all. God, way to make an introduction, D. fuck.

  
"This really isn’t funny," Peter says eyes narrowing, tension vibrating.

  
"Good," she says withdrawing her hand from her pocket. Her iPod sits cradled in her palm, the cord of the earbuds an impossible knot. "Here," she says, dropping the iPod into his hand and curling his fingers around it.  
  
"What the hell?"  
  
She doesn’t look back. An action hero missing an explosion, except really she’s just a background character in someone else story. Darcy pushes past a blur of blue and red and a second of red and silver before she realises the world is blurred from the tears in her eyes. The tears staining her glasses.

"Oh, Darcy," Jane says, chasing after Darcy and wrapping her thin arms around Darcy’s shoulders. A limpet in the guise of a tiny astrophysicist.  

"I don’t know what I expected," she tells Jane, blinking rapidly. "I think I probably should have stayed on the Technicolour Dream Bridge, or Earth. Earth is safe and there’s beer."

"If you stayed on earth you wouldn’t have gotten to meet Heimdall, or get Instagram worthy pics of Steve’s ass in costume," Jane says helpfully.

Darcy gives out a watery laugh, “God, I hate crying, do you think today can be over now? If I promise to buy Thor  a beer will let me blow my nose on his cape?”

"Darce."


	71. Sorry (Darcy, Jane, Steve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> Steve and Darcy meet for the first time when she accidentally triggers one of Tony's devices which hits Steve. Hard. In the groin. No one had ever seen Steve go down like that before. Or make such a sound. Or cry and heave. Darcy becomes infamous and tries to figure out how to properly convey "Sorry for almost breaking your junk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to answer the prompt (sent by my favourite troll), but Sybil had other plans and before I knew it I had written a 700 word flash fic. It's silly, and it made me smile to write, but I'm so happy to have something play out so rapidly in my mind again. This isn't the only thing I've been working on in the last week, but the others (the next chapter of the dragon verse, and a one shot that might turn smutty) are moving along slower and will take awhile before they are done. It's been a good week for me, busy but I wrote almost 2k words and finished a few crafty things, while on the up and not listening to the voice of depression in my head. Not this week anyway. I still feel guilty for not having caught up on replying to all the things but I've set that as a goal for the next two weeks, to trying and get emails, asks on tumblr, and reply to all the lovely comments that make my day so much brighter. 
> 
> This piece wasn't beta'd so all mistakes are mine I'm afraid.

It was one-hundred and fifty three percent not her fault, give or take three percent. She wasn’t even meant to be there. She wouldn’t have if Stark hadn’t collared Jane and, well, wherever Jane went Darcy seemed to follow.

‘Hold this.’ Two little words that ended her life. Her social life at least. God, she was never going to live down the look on Captain America’s face as he cupped himself and crumpled to the floor in agony.

There were really only so many ways to say, ‘Sorry, I broke your penis.’

“What are you doing?” Jane says, twisting the laptop screen around. “Your resume? Really, Darcy…”

“Excuse me, when a video of you destroying a national treasure’s, er, treasure…”

“I don’t think Steve Rogers genetalia are along the same lines as the Washington Monument.”

“It probably isn’t _now_ ,” Darcy says, drawing out the word. She tilts back the laptop screen and tries to find a better way of writing ‘unpaid minion’ and not break any of the NDA’s she had to sign in triplicate to follow after Dr. Foster like a little duckling.

“When did you minor in Norse Studies?”

“After New Mexico. I told you about it.”

“But you still call Mjolnir mew-mew.”

“Oh my God, Jane, shut up,” Darcy snarls digging her fingers into her hair. “No wait, do you think it would be better if I just, you know, erased my identity and…”

“You can do that?”

“Like it’s hard?” Darcy smirks as she twists her hair up onto a messy bun and steals the pen dangling between Janes thin fingers to hold it up.

“Excuse me, Dr. Foster, may I have a word with Ms. Lewis for a moment,” Captain Rogers asks.

Adrenaline spikes through Darcy’s system. Her hand reflexively reaching for a weapon, but the only thing on her little piece of countertop besides her laptop was a notebook, a stress ball (in the same of Iron Man’s helmet) and a cup of Lady Grey tea.

“Oh, God,” Darcy says wondering if its too late to hide or to bribe Jane to pull the fire alarm.

“Sure,” Jane, the traitor, says, patting Darcy’s arm and scooting away on her chair. “You two kids have fun.”

“Sorry,” she says for what feels like the millionth time. Or maybe more like a billion. A fucktillion?

“I just wanted to thank you,” Steve says.

“Was that a question?”

“No?”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“Not especially,” Steve says, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a fraction of a smile.

“Exactly why are you thanking me?”

“The fruit basket,” he says pulling a tiny white card from his pocket. Darcy grabs it out of his hand. Steve leans against the countertop and Darcy considers the possibility of getting that little piece of of counter bronzed for posterity.

_Dear Captain,_

_Sorry about the whole potential need for the little blue pills. Have some fruit on me._

_Darcy Lewis_

_xoxo_

_p.s. Dinner sometime? If you can ever forgive me._

“This is _my_ handwriting,” Darcy says running her fingers over the swirly mark of her signature. “But I didn’t send you anything. Fruit or sausage or whatever. Sorry. Cap.”

“Plums.”

Darcy’s jaw drops, face flaming with color. Steve’s eyebrows raise, and he drags his teeth along the side of his bottom lip.

“No.”

“They were delicious,” Steve says sincerely.

“Oh shit.”

He holds himself still for a few moments, while Darcy calculates who exactly she needs to kill and who to ask to do the job. His eyes are wide and blue, so innocent and angelic, it makes her feel dirty. For all of thirty seconds. His shoulders shake just a little and bursts into a deep laugh, hand curling over his heart.

“Asshole,” Darcy hisses, affronted. “That joke is lame.”

Steve snorts, “I thought so too.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, swipes his thumb over the screen, types in the passcode and turns the phone to her. On the screen is a picture of a fruit basket, or more like a trunk filled with bunches of bananas and plums. It’s not funny. Except when she imagines the look that must have been on Cap’s face when he found the basket.

“Stark or Foster?”

“I don’t really know Dr Foster, so I assume it’s Stark. Nat prefers springing blind dates on me.”

“Captain America needs blind dates?”

“No, but Steve Rogers apparently does,” Steve shrugs.


	72. What's Up, Doc? (Steve, Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny What's Up, doc? au.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this awhile ago, but just noticed I never posted it here, so here you go. It's only a tiny thing but it made me smile.

Steve shuts the door behind him, tossing the keycard on the dresser and rubbing the back of his neck to ease the buildup of tension. Sweat and dirt cling to his fingers, shirt, and what feels like every inch of his skin not covered in scrapes and bruises. With careful movements he strips himself free of his torn jacket, and struggles to undo the buttons of his shirt.

"Hello out there."

"Hello," Steve replies, sliding his belt through the loops of his pants with a sharp tug that snaps two of the belt loops. "Aw, hell."

"What?" says the husky voice again . His fingers stutter against the buttons of his fly when adrenaline shoots down his spine. His feet take him through the bathroom door at the same time his brain matches the voice to the naked woman in his bath.

"I think you dropped something, Howard, not that I’m complaining."

"What do you think you are doing?" He splutters, grasping at the waist of his jeans where they slipped down towards his knees. Heat crawls up his neck and warms his face as he buttons his jeans up.

  
“I think I’m taking a bath aren’t I?” she shrugs, shifting the froth of bubbles obscuring the water and her body beneath.

He does not let his mind think about what the lace of soap bubbles hides. Later though, well that’s another story.

"Did Nat…alie put you up to this?."

"Who?"

"My…fiancée."

"You can’t have a fiancée a wife…well I mean you could but not in…”

"I don’t have a wife," Steve grits out, rubbing the bridge of his nose. " _Ms_  Lewis, why are you here?”

"Didn’t we go over this already?"

"Please," he says, rubbing his eyes and realising he must have lost his glasses in the fight or left them in Natasha’s  _borrowed_  car.

"You look cute in your John McClane, Howard."

“What? Never mind, I don’t need to know, what I do need is for you to get out of my bathroom.”

"Right now?" Darcy asks, chin tilting up as she curls her hands around the edge of the bath. Droplets of water fall from her orange painted nails.

"Yes, now…No, wait."

 


	73. Beyond the Goblin City (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and the gang get lost in the Goblin Kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because everyone likes a 'Darcy is ________'s daughter' story, and because Aenaria is a shameless enabler of crack aus, and so are LadySarah and Lostdaemon. I was going to work on other things, really I was but I made the fatal mistake of watching a certain 80s movie on netflix while sewing yesterday...crack happened. What can I say my muse is warped and I'm happy to go along with it. Labyrinth is my favourite.

                                                                      

 

Like calls to like. It wasn’t just an idiom, it was a lesson. One of the earliest ones Darcy ever learned. Like calls to like, and that’s where the trouble started. Trouble in the form of tissue paper, glitter, and a bomb that wasn’t.

_“Crap, crap, crap. Dad’s going to murder me,”_  Darcy thinks, cleaning chunks of glitter off her face and glasses. The sky overhead is unending grey. Sluggish clouds that carry the whisper of distant mountains drag low enough to snag on the tallest of trees.

“The hell was that?” Steve coughs, dragging himself up to his feet, eyes sweeping over the hill they’re scattered over like plastic army men.

“Where the hell, might be a better question,” Clint says, bow held loose in his fist, fingers poised to grasp an arrow.

Steve’s eyes land on Darcy and she waves him away before he can swoop in to get her out of trouble. Fat lot of good that would do. The worry is written all over his face, and his hands flex. He’s not in uniform, just the street clothes he was wearing in the lab. But he moves as if the weight of of the suit’s authority still clings to him. A part of him as much as the wicked sense of humor that left them lost and very far from the place to hang your hat and hammer. Except Darcy wasn’t really lost at all.

“Darcy, you okay?” Steve asks low, eyes scanning for danger.

“Just peachy,” Darcy replies, digging through her bag to find her glasses case and dropping them in.The snapping of the case puts everyone on higher alert than they probably were. In hindsight the glitter bomb war was a bad choice for a game. A really awful, terribly bad choice.

“Hey, guys, little help here,” Tony says, flailing about on the ground. A shiny red and gold turtle stuck on it’s back in the dirt and weeds.

“What’s the matter, Stark?”

“JARVIS is offline,” Tony says flatly. “Manual release is jammed.”

Steve, Natasha, and Clint exchange glances, a silent conversation that ends in Natasha and Steve wordlessly getting to work opening the tin can Tony was trapped in. Darcy mentally upgrades Stark from a tortoise to a snapping turtle, as the man scowls and rants over the wreckage of the Iron Man armour.

“Jane, if you keep hitting that it’s gonna break,” Darcy says, getting to her feet in a tiny cloud of glittering dust. The stuff was everywhere.

“Hmmm, what?” Jane says, whacking the gizmo she’s holding with the flat of her hand. “I swear I charged it. Strange.”

“That’s not the only thing,” Natasha murmurs, and everyone’s attention shifts to the wall. A large archway has constructed itself, or rather just chose to show itself at the moment when no one was looking.

The top of the hill is covered in dry grass, a stone path winding its way down to an ancient and impossibly tall stone wall, stretching out onto the horizon in both directions. It was mostly an illusion, the Labyrinth was both larger and smaller than it appeared.

She was in so much trouble.

Darcy palms her iPhone out of her pocket, checks the dead screen even though she knows it will be less helpful than a rock in this place.

Goblins hated technology.

Magic wasn’t too keen on it either.

The buzz and hum of the Tower’s security kept the tower free of of goblin spies. Well, mostly free; there was that time that Osborn attacked the R and D levels, but he wasn’t a real goblin. Real goblins were trouble, so was everything else that called the Goblin Kingdom home really, which included herself, Darcy Lewis. Unpaid intern, college graduate, and renegade princess of the Goblin Kingdom.

....

"Ow," Clint says shaking his hand back and forth, as he rubbed his boot on the dry grass.  
  
"I told you not to touch anything," Steve says rolling his eyes.  
  
"How the hell was I supposed to know Tinkerbell was a flesh eating monster?"  
  
"Just don't touch anything."

“Bah, what did ya expect to happen? Fairies are nothin’ but spite. Damn pests,” Hoggle says, shaking his head at the collected assortment of superheroes and scientists. "Beggin' yer pardon, Princess Amalthea.”

"Princess? What princess?" Tony says.

"Oh, Hedwig," Darcy says scrunching her face up.

"It's Hoggle, Princess, and just so you know, Jareth's none too happy with you," Hoggle's gnarled hands stray to the pouch on his belt. Beads and keys tinkle merrily.

"Darcy?" Steve asks, his voice wavering from uncertainty to full on Captain-y. Damn.

"Princess Amalthea of the Goblin Kingdom to you," Hoggle frowns in suspicion, pointing his finger up towards Steve’s face. He’s about two feet off the mark.

"Did he say Gremlin Kingdom?" Barton asks, wiggling his finger in his ear to dislodge the nonfunctioning hearing-aid and shoving it in a random pocket. Really it was an unfair amount of pockets.

"Wrong franchise," Bruce says, tilting his face up to Clint as he kneels examining the mangled body of a fairy.

He’s wringing his hands again, Darcy notices, complexion starting to take on a hue somewhere between Granny Smith Apple and Inchworm on the Crayola scale of colors. The sarcasm was a good sign. Hulk didn’t use sarcasm and Darcy really didn’t want to know how the Labyrinth would take to a rampaging pseudo-goblin of massive proportions.

“Goblins like the kid’s book or that Oscorp’s nearest and dearest?”

“Like the book...sort of. Don’t ask; you won’t like the answer,” Darcy says, focusing on Hoggle again. “How long do we have, Hedrin?”

“Hoggle.”

“Whatever.”

“Thirteen hours, and you;ll be needin’ ‘em. The shortcut’s gone.”

“What’s that mean?” Jane asks.

“Dad’s really pissed.”


	74. Mice (Darcy Lewis, Clint Barton, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill for the following tumblr prompt:
> 
> "nourgelitnius asked:  
> Darcy and Clint are mistakenly arrested and Selvig hires a blind lawyer and his partner to help them out."
> 
> The dialogue pretty much wrote itself. I love when that happens.

"I'm telling," Darcy says, voice a higher pitch than normal. She rotates her left ankle slowly and manages to wince a little at the pain. It was swelling up like a sonovabitch, and she didn’t want to think about what sort of pain her partner in apparent crime had. Nope.

They’d been at the precinct for what felt like days but in reality was a few hours at best. A few hours that she could really do without. This is the trouble she got in for working with the good guys, well the mostly good guys anyway, the jury was still kinda out on Tony at the moment.

"Who," Clint says rolling his neck on his shoulders. 

"Your better half," she smirks eyeing detectives Cumbersome and Killjoy across the room. What was taking Selvig so long anyway? 

"Which one?"

"The one that will do more damage."

"Nat isn't like that."

"Not talking about the work wife," Darcy says. “Dude, are we gonna be here much longer? I gotta pee.”

Detective Cumbersome frowns. Or Darcy assumes the expression he makes is a deeper frown than the vaguely constipated look he had throughout their brief association.

There’s a soft knock on the open doorway and two men enter the room. The man on the right is sporting glasses and a cane, with a fresh cut high on his right cheek. The other man has lighter hair, in need of a cut and sideburns that appeared to have briefly contemplated taking over his face then decided to back off a bit. Sideburns is smiling far too pleasantly for such an ungodly hour.

"Excuse me, detectives, can you take the cuffs off of our clients?" 

"Oh and what would Steve say to that, D?" Clint says. His tone is mocking but she can feel the waves of tension radiating out in circles around him. 

"Nothing I can repeat in mixed company," Darcy says scrunching up her face and wondering what it would take to get Steve Rogers to sing ‘Please, Mr Jailer’. The fantasy playing out in her in her head was nice enough, though wholly inaccurate. Pity that. 

"I could take my hearing aids out?"

"That's why we are here in the first place!"

"I said the batteries were getting low."

“Ugh.”

"Don't mind us. We're just your lawyers," Sideburns says rolling his eyes.

"My name is Matt Murdock, and this is my associate, Foggy Nelson," Matt says lips twitching slightly. “We were hired by a Dr Selvig. Who says you are in need of help.”

Clint grunts, shifts his feet under the table but his eyes track back and forth. Occupational hazard, Darcy thinks, still rubbing at her unbound wrists and hoping like hell her left ankle feels better soon. 

"Which one's Pinky and which ones the brain?" Foggy says, leafing through the file in his hands.

"Are you pondering what I'm pondering?" Darcy says, eyebrows raising as she takes in the suits in front of them. 

"I think so, Darce, but where are we going to find four geese, and a zeppelin this time of night in Hell’s Kitchen?"

“Very funny Mr--”

"Clint Barton, sometimes an avenger, and Darcy Lewis, I don’t know--,” Clint says face cracking into a smile despite the livid bruise covering his jaw. “Hey, D did they ever get around to giving you a real job."

“Says the man named after a bird.”

“Do you mind if we sit?” Matt asks and Clint shrugs his right shoulder up.

“He shrugged, that’s good enough for me,” Foggy says. He leads Matt forward like it’s second nature.

“Can you tell us what happened, Mr Barton, Miss Lewis? Or shall I begin with what we know? That you were found on the premises of one...”

“Langhorne S. Clemens,” Foggy reads off the file.

“Seriously?” Matt asks.

“Very seriously,” Foggy replies.


	75. Patch (Sam, Bucky, & Steve - pre-Bucky/Sam)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something that played out in my head the other day, and I caught it before the words could slip away. I haven't done a lot of writing lately but I managed this little bit and I'm slowly working on the next chapter of the dragon verse (Idris has taken over my brain). 
> 
> I owe replies to so many of you and I'm sorry I haven't done that yet. My brain has been a jerk lately and teamed up with a nasty little cold bug. I just haven't done the things that I could have done. Just know that you are all wonderful and I am so very grateful for the kind words you took the time to write me. It means so very much to me. 
> 
> Thanks got to Nemie and Aenaria for betaing and enabling of tiny plot velociraptors. 
> 
> P.S. I like to think it’s in the same verse as [this ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/3232022)

……

“I don’t know if you are aware of this but they have people with extensive degrees to fix that,” Sam says leaning on the open window sill. “Some of them even get paid to deal with your grumpy ass.”

“I can take care of myself,” Bucky grits out. He adjusts the angle of the screwdriver in his right hand, tightening something Sam can’t quite see in the small hatch in the metal arm. 

“I’m just saying that lonely hero shtick is hella old school.”

“What? You gonna patch me up and kiss it better?” Bucky says flexing his metal wrist. He rotates his wrist in a circle and flips Sam off. 

“The history books never said what assholes you and Cap really are.”

“Yeah, and the comics said I was fourteen and wore tights.”

“Well, you could definitely pull off the tights.”

“Fuck you.”

“You two assholes done flirtin’? There’s a city to save… again,” Steve says from the door not bothering to look up from the tablet he is reading. 

God, Sam hated the way both nonagenarians wandered around silently. It was creepy as fuck. Bucky and Steve were both weird as hell, on whole different level than the weird ass family of avengers they were.

“See what I mean, both of you are assholes.”

“Yeah, but I can get away with it because Captain America’s a saint,” Steve says, dry as auntie Rose’s Sunday roast.

“Saint my ass. What about Barnes?”

“He can say whatever the fuck he likes.”

“Steve likes me best,” Bucky says. He pats Sam on the shoulder with his right hand lingering long enough that Sam feels the heat of Bucky’s flesh and blood palm through the fabric of his shirt.

“True, I do,” Steve grins.

“Man, fuck you.”

“Sorry, my girl might object, ‘sides Buck’s the one you wanna-”

“Jesus Christ, Steve!”

“It ain’t fuckin’ news, Sam,” Bucky says, a wicked smile curving across his mouth. He tosses the screwdriver into the box and shuts the hatch in his arm.

“You know what? I’m done with you,” Sam huffs straightening up. 

“Don’t get your feathers all ruffled birdie, didn’t say I didn’t like it.”


	76. faith no more (gen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crack. 
> 
> So much crack in a very small package. It's been a long while since I wrote something as off the cuff as this. 
> 
> Blame Aenaria...I do.

“Who pissed on your cloud car?” Darcy asks mentally listing the big bads with the ability to make things…fuzzy. 

“I fear it was my brother,” Thor says. His golden fur shining, and the tiny red cape around his shoulders billows becomingly, despite the absence of wind in the room. 

“That sucks, big guy,” she says curling her fingers into a fist. She awkwardly reaches out to lightly punch him in the shoulder, careful that her knuckles just graze his golden fur.

“When isn’t it Loki?” Clint gripes as he awkwardly climbs a wooden stool to reach the counter and planting his purple fuzzy ass on the corner. The purple and black arrow on his tummy is fully visible for the first time. 

“I don’t think that’s very sanitary,” Maya whispers. 

“Right?” Jane says. Betty covers her mouth, shoulders shaking. 

“I need a drink,” Tony says dropping a Stark phone on the floor and giving it a vicious kick. The arc reactor on his belly glows bright and a beam of white light shoots out hitting the phone and turning it into a pile of ash. “I really don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Any word from War Machine or Falcon where Loki is now, JARVIS?” Steve says blue paws curled on his hips, or at least the sides of his very round belly. The star on the centre of his belly is a white star with a dark blue outline. 

“There is no update yet from the Colonel. I will inform you as soon as they report in.”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

“I’m gonna tear off his head and sh-”

“Buck,” Steve barks out.

“Eat me,” Bucky Barnes bear says, flipping Steve off with his metal arm. 

“Is it just me or did the frown get deeper on the angry little cloud on Bucky’s belly?” Darcy asks. 

“It’s not just you,” Betty says.

Bruce and Natasha are the only Avengers bears not currently freaking out, Natasha was always calm and collected, even when turned into a red bear with a wicked looking hourglass on her black tummy. Bruce’s fur is a vibrant green, a blocky green fist at the center of his tummy. His glasses are perched on the end of his nose at a vaguely jaunty angle and he is wringing his paws together fretfully. 

“I’m gonna tickle their tummies,” Darcy says. 

“You can’t, we don’t know what will happen,” Betty says. 

“I’ll take the risk,” Darcy says kneeling down to tickle the smiling star on Steve’s furry belly. Steve giggles, squirms and the star on his belly glows brightly. He runs to hide behind Bucky and the angry little storm cloud on his belly. “Okay, okay, I’m done.”

“Well?” Jane asks, not so subtly snapping pictures on her phone to send to Helen.

“So, so worth it.”

“Loki is gonna pay for this. I’m gonna shoot him myself,” Clint growls rubbing his paw over his furry tummy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wandere off to bed humming 'We Care A Lot'*
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. The next chapter of the dragon verse is with my beta so it will be posted in the next few days. 
> 
> P.p.s. Thank you so much for reading and commenting. It means so much to me.


	77. Bring It On (Natasha/Sam)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Ladysarah is a shameless enabler and Bring It On is an adorable film.

_"I transferred from Saint Petersburg, your school has no gymnastics team, this is my last resort."_

 

“You don’t really seem the cheerleader type, Wilson,” Natasha says. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the doorframe. Tryouts had been her worst idea. She should never have listened to her meatball of a brother.

“Because I’m pretty?” Sam says, squaring his shoulders.

“I…what?”

“I’m just messing with you red,” Sam says. He’s bouncing on his toes, a brilliant smile curving across his mouth. “There are plenty of other guys on the squad.”

He was cute when he smiled. Not that she was looking.

“Have you seen the football team?”

“No, should I? I can go right now,” Natasha says.

“No no no. Don’t even go there. They suck, hardcore.”

“That bad?” Nat asks. The left side of her mouth curving up a little. God, was she actually flirting? get it together, Romanoff.

“Look the only reason anybody goes to the games is to see us. I was on the team for awhile but it was hopeless. They haven’t won a game in years. The Cheer Squad actually wins. We’re going to Nationals and it’s my ticket to college. You are gonna help us get there.”

“I’m a gymnast not a cheerio.”

“So are we. Minus all the equipment. We need you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Here’s the deal, Nat, we’re the shit. We’re going to the National Championship, and you’re coming with us. We need you, and you need us.”

“It’s Natasha, and I’ll think about it.”

“See you tomorrow. Practice starts at six-thirty.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam winks.

“You know, you’re awful cocky, Wilson.”

“Nah, I’m just that good.”


	78. glamping (Steve/Darcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head this little ficlet takes place in the Indy verse ([it's not the years, honey, it's the mileage](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1316950/chapters/2738035)).

 

"I'm adorable," Darcy says. She's balancing a pine branch on her head as they head down the trail.

 

"I'm not arguing that."

 

"I can hear a but coming. Other than your glorious ass on the trail."

 

"I wasn't going to say anything," Steve snorts holding a branch aside for Darcy to pass beside him.

 

"My back still hurts."

 

"I said I was sorry?"

 

"No you promised me a real bed and a bubble bath and not a campground on the side of the road filled with the great unwashed and an a gaggle of twelve year old perverts."

 

"They were a family."

 

"They weren't ogling your tits."

 

"The mother wouldn't take her eyes off my ass."

 

"Well it is a beautiful specimen."

 

"It's all done with mirrors, you know."

 

The trail through the woods leads around a sharp corner and the view between the trees shows a little cabin. Or to Darcy's thinking the ass end of some sort of serial killer's outhouse. "I am not really seeing the glamour in this glamping thing," Darcy frowns.

  
"It's a roof and a bed," Steve says, biting the inside of his lip. He digs the key out of his pocket.   
  
"Did we take the wrong path?" Darcy asks shifting her backpack strap for the millionth time. "Damn no signal here." Darcy frowns lifting her iPhone above her head.   
  
"Did you really think there would be?"

 

"All I know is you promised me a bubble bath and if there isn't there will be dire consequence for the lack of comfort and wifi."

 

"I'm a man of my word," Steve says. He the key in the lock. It fits and the door opens to a warmly lit room. One wall is completely made from old glass windows. Several windows overlooking a tiny little brook are open, keeping the place from turning into a greenhouse despite the brisk autumn breeze.   
  
"Liar...oooh...oh it's so cute. And there is a bathtub."

 

"You like it?"

 

"It'll do, one you run me a bath."

 

"Any other orders?"

 

"Bath first, then we shall see what else you can do for me."

 

 


	79. Darcy Ascending (Steve/Darcy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Jupiter Ascending Au for the lovely Ladysarah. 
> 
> Many thanks to Rainne for the beta read. 
> 
> ❤️

She loved the stars. The blackness of space, decorated with swirling pinpricks of light. Planets and constellations that danced across the night sky, carrying the names of goddesses and heroines.

There were stories in the stars that filled her head with dreams when reality was so hard to bear.

"Have you finished scrubbing the toilet, Darcy?"

"Almost, mama," Darcy says, shoving her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans. She slips her pink rubber glove back on and pushes away thoughts of Pluto's heart, and the elegant brass telescope that forever lived on her watch list. Her world revolved around cleaning in the Lovelace Building at Culver University: a place she never dared dream of attending school.

They’re in the basement cleaning Dr Foster's cluttered lab space. Darcy's never met the woman, but she's cleaned around her sleeping form a few times. Foster was brilliant, or so Darcy figured when she looked at the incomprehensible squiggles filling every wall surface and scrap of paper. The small lab space is filled with hulking bits of machinery that wouldn't have looked out of place in a bad 50s B-movie.

She scrubs the toilet as quickly as possible. The cleaner made her eyes sting and her nose itch. "Done," she says, though nobody answers. The lab is empty when she pokes her head out of the bathroom. She can hear her mother's low voice out in the hall.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

Better is a relative term.

She's frowning down at the screen of her phone, at a picture she didn't take or save. Weird little aliens dudes that look like the worms in MIB are surrounding a sleeping figure. A figure that looked an awful lot like Dr Foster. It was too weird for a Wednesday afternoon where so was about to play chicken and have her eggs collected in exchange for ten grand - money she was going to split with Uncle Justin, but enough to buy the telescope she set her heart on with enough left over for a phone that wasn't held together with tape and a prayer.

"Jane Foster?" the nurse calls out.

"That's me," Darcy Cassiopeia Lewis says. It's a lie, but better than than anyone tracing her name and her mother finding out. God, that was a nightmare just thinking about the possibility.

The gown she puts on itches as she lays back on the table. The room is freezing and she can't shake the dread twisting around her spine. Straps encircle her wrists and ankles, her body lifts up off the table and rotates in a slow circle.

"Check her," snaps the doctor and something sharp and cold stabs into her neck.

"She's the one."

"Kill her."

"What? No. Help me," Darcy screams. She can't move. Can barely breath with the panic bubbling up in her throat.

The wall behind her breaks apart in a shower of light and concrete dust. A man skates through the air, a weapon in his hand. The doctors and nurses, hovering around Darcy, waver in her vision. They shrink and twist, and scream at the man with the gun. One of the aliens spits out the word 'splice'.

"Please help me," Darcy cries twisting her wrists.

"I'm trying, Jane Foster," skater boy says. He flips in the air, boots trailing a flash of blue light. His arm curls around her and she can move again, the restraints falling away like rags.

"That's not my name."

"It's the name on the form. I smelled it. Tracked you."

"Darcy. Darcy Cassiopeia Lewis, but nobody uses my middle name."

"As you wish, your majesty."

"What?"

"No time."

He hustles her out of the building and away from the broken bodies of the creatures. "They were trying to kill me."

"They were going to kill you," he agrees, mouth held in a grim line.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe."

"Who are you?" She demands digging her heels into the pavement.

He sighs heavily, blue eyes scanning the shadows. It's then that she sees his oddly pointed ears. He’s too big to be a Hobbit and far too muscly to be eleven.

"You may call me Steven. I'm a tracker, a lycantant-splice...ex-Legion."

"Okay, Steve, I don't understand any of that or what the fuck was going on back there."

"Nothing good."

"I think I figured that one out."


	80. unbind me (Darcy Lewis & Bucky Barnes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask box prompt fill I wrote the other week.

“Give me five minutes and you’ll be free.”

“You’ve got two, agent.”

“Not an agent,” she says rolling her eyes. “I’m a consultant…sort of.”

“You shouldn’t be here then.”

“Neither should you,” Darcy snaps back and Bucky growls low in his throat. To be fair she wouldn’t have joined in the game if it hadn’t been for Wanda. The Witch had a lot of explaining to do.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because Stark is an asshole that doesn’t deserve to win.”

“So where’s the rest of the boy band?” Darcy asks. She’s fiddling with a tiny device holding it above the metal vines binding him to the wall.

“Search me, doll face,” Bucky says. His mouth turns up in a cocky grin that doesn’t match the angry spark in his eyes. 

“I’d rather not,” she says, eyes skimming over the luminous pink goop covering Barnes’s legs. 

“Suit yourself.”

“I usually do, thanks,” she says.

The box in her hands dings and the metal vines binding Bucky to the wall go slack. 

“Sam’s out, got hit in the chest.”

“Tony?”

“No, Steve. The punk plays to win.”

“What do I owe you for this?”

“Stark’s head on a plate and fifty percent of the cash prize.”

“Thirty,” Buck says, teeth flashing a brilliant white. 

“Forty,” Darcy says pulling his paintball gun out and levelling it at Bucky.

“I could disarm you.”

“Not before I pull the trigger, soldier. Take it or leave it.”

“Deal.”


	81. join me (Steve/Darcy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Sarah prompted me to write a wee Community AU

“Join me?” Darcy asks. She pouts a little and takes her glasses off to clean them on her tshirt. If the v-neck reveals a little more cleavage than was strictly necessary, well, accidents happen in war games. 

“What makes you think I’d do that?” he counters. 

She can hear the smug smile in his voice before she sees it. She shrugs one shoulder and slips the glasses back on. “You’re out of ammo, I’m not.” 

“You sure about that, kid?”

“Yup,” Darcy says, popping the ‘p’. She may not have Natasha’s skills at manipulating people to do her bidding, but she could hold her own when it came to fudging the truth. Technically one paintball pellet counted as ammo, right? Even if it was stuck down her cleavage. Darcy arches her back, holding tight to the door handle. “I know where Tony has a stash.”

“Do you now?” 

“Yup,” Darcy says. “Only problem is I need help to get there.”

Steve laughs shaking his head, the strip lighting reflects in his glasses. “And you think I’m gonna help you?”

“You’d be stupid not to.”

“That so, Darcy?” Steve drawls, eyes roaming over her face and dipping down to her cleavage. 

Ha, sucker! Natasha really did give the best advice. 

“I’m willing to trade my knowledge for a small percentage of the prize.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Humiliating Stark in front of the entirety of Greendale Community College.” She’s certain she’s got him, without expending too much effort. The prize money was so going to be hers, or at least a decent chunk of it to share out between Nat, Wanda, and herself. 

Steve leans into her, his eyes heavy lidded and a faint flush dusting his cheeks above the scruff of his beard. God he was such a freaking hipster. A hot one though. It made Darcy wish that she had more than History of Unremarkable Things with him. Maybe if she switched from Elvish 201 to Spanish with Señor Hammer she could join The Spanish Group. No that would be bad, besides her dad would kill her if she brought home an ex-little green army dude. 

He leans right into Darcy’s space, curling his large hand over her’s on the door and brushing her hair back behind one ear. Darcy’s eyelids flutter shut and her heart leaps in her throat. “I think he can do that himself without my help. You’re on your own, Darcy,” he says, breath tickling her cheek. “The prize is mine.”

“What?” Darcy splutters. But it’s too late, Steve’s gone, and so is her paintball gun. “Oh god, Wanda and Nat are gonna kill me.”


	82. Bed-Stuy Nine-Nine (Clint Barton, Kate Bishop, Nick Fury)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladysarah strike again. Or at least prompts me to write a Clint/Kate, Brooklyn Nine-Nine au. It's more friendship than shippy but I will take whatever words I can string together in sentences that mostly make sense. :)
> 
> Time for me to bumble off to bed. Goodnight, sweet readers. 
> 
> P.S. There's a wee crappy graphic on [my tumblr](http://typhoidmeri.tumblr.com/post/138503312148/bed-stuy-nine-nine-the-one-where-nourgelitnius).

“Why are you here?”

“A long, long time ago my mother made a mistake and married my father. Then the magic happened,” Kate rolls her eyes. “Captain Fury sent me. You know, to make sure the dog isn’t feasting on your bloated corpse. I’m awesome like that.” 

“No talkie before coffee, Girly girl,” Clint says rubbing the back of his head. He’s shirtless of course, wearing unbuttoned jeans that had definitely seen better decades and…

“Are you wearing women’s underwear, Detective?”

“No.”

“They’re pink.”

“Purple,” Clint mumbles. he wrestled with the coffee pot, face disappearing into the pot as he gulps it down, absently reaching down to rub Lucky’s ears. 

It gives Kate a moment to indulge in her favorite pastime, counting the scrapes and bruises on his skin. The freckles on his shoulders and the happy trail of dark blonde hair get double bonus points. Bandages are scattered on hip, ribs, shoulder, and forearms. The Stark case ended badly, more so for Clint than the perp he was chasing down. 

It’s not that Kate hadn’t thought about climbing Clint like a tree (hello, abs), but they had the whole mentor/mentee thing going. The dude had skills. He was actually a pretty good detective, unfortunately he was fucking terrible at life. Like really fucking pathetic.

“Stop.”

“What?” she says.

“S'too early for you to objectify me.”

“It’s ten past nine, old man,” Kate says. She glances down at her phone and taps on an app to open it. 

“Exactly.” 

“So is there, like, an allotted time for the objectification of shirtless men? Do I have to book an appointment?”

“What did I say?”

“That I’m the better detective.”

“What? You’re not even a detective.”

“Exactly,” Kate nods lining up three pink cupcakes on her phone. Kwazy Cupcakes was so made for her. Captain Fury should thank her. With a raise and a second lunch hour. 

“It’s too early for words.”

“But not too early for you to be a loser.”

“Bite me, Bishop.”

“I would, but I don’t really want to get another rabies shot.” 

Clint flips her the bird.

….

Clint’s ass barely had time to sink into his chair before the hairs on his arms raise and a chill settles into his gut. The chill might just be the Chinese food from the back of the fridge he had for breakfast. It might have been slightly fizzy sweet and sour chicken, but was more likely Captain Fury frowning at him. 

“Oh, hey, Captain,” Clint says, plastering a smile on his face. He slides his hand up to straighten his tie. The tie was a purple chevron pattern, it brought out the color in his bruises. 

“You’re late, Barton,” Fury says. 

_Futz._

“Yeah, but only by six minutes. Six minutes is nothing, like a fraction of nothing. Rogers isn’t even here yet, or Kate,” Clint says. He knocks a pen off his desk and watched as it rolls to a stop at Fury’s gleaming shoes. _Aw, pen, no._

“Detective Rogers has a doctor’s appointment to attend this morning with his pregnant wife,” Fury says. He shuffles through the stack of files in his hand. “As for Ms Bishop has a dance rehearsal, something to do with destroying the _Cherry STEM Chicks_ at the next dance-off.”

“Those girls are vicious.”

“Indeed. Now, tell me where you are at with the Selvig street burglary?”

“We’re close.”

“You have a new lead?”

“Not exactly.”

“A suspect?”

“Yes. Sort of,” Clint says. He scans the desks around him looking for an escape that wasn’t there. Romanoff and Hill stand by the coffee machine arguing over God knows what. Probably names for Rogers twins-to-be. Barnes is hovering around Romanoff’s orbit, like some broken satellite with only one working arm. _Did satellites even have arms?_

There’s a twinge of guilt there, at the cast on Barnes’ arm, but only a little one.

“No leads, no suspects, what do you have Detective Barton?”

“An amazing smile, and a drawer full of snacks,” Clint says. He offers up a bright smile, one to put Sarge’s or Wilson’s smiles to shame. Fury does not smile back.

“I want something on this case by the end of the day, Detective,” Fury says dropping a thick file on Clint’s desk. A cloud of Dorito dust wafts up and something with multiple legs scrambles across the coffee stained keyboard.

“I can do that,” Clint nods. He waves a finger at the inky spider wobbling off the keyboard. The poor thing only had five legs. “I’m gonna call you Archibald. You lost your legs in the great Cruller Battle of last Thursday. Your wife thinks you’re dead and is carrying on an affair with Sylvester the Cockroach that lives in the men’s room.”

“Today, Barton.”


	83. Beyond the Goblin City part II (Darcy, Jane, etc)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to be more organised I chose for wips to work on and ignore everything else until they are finished or updated. This happened to be the first one I put on the list. I hadn't meant to write it but it popped into my head so I really couldn't say no. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
>  
> 
> [part I](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/7723682)

“Thirteen hours?” Natasha asks.

“To get to the castle at the heart of the Labyrinth, before my father turns someone into a goblin.” Or all of you. There were worse fates in the Labyrinth. You didn't grow up the daughter of the Goblin King and not know the dangers. Even the untold ones. 

“You can’t be serious, kid,” Tony says. 

“Princess,” Hoggle hisses kicking Stark’s shin. 

“What the hell,” Tony says stumbling back. Natasha touches his arm, a slight pressure that holds Tony back from seeking revenge. 

“Like the story then, the Goblin King kidnaps children and turns them into little goblins,” Steve says. His brows draw together, eyes far away for a fraction of a moment.

“Not just children. It’s complicated,” Darcy says. Her voice trails off as she digs through her satchel, ignoring the tangle of her ipod earbuds, the jingle of keys, and the tubes of lipstick and chapstick that have collected in the bottom of the bag. “Gotcha.” She withdraws a small silver and black pocket watch from the depths of the satchel. The watch pops open, with a swipe of her thumb, revealing an ornate face and hands running backwards from thirteen. 

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Princess, but the King said to give you this. Iffin you need it,” Hoggle says holding out a perfect crystal sphere. 

“Bog take me,” Darcy mutters under her breath. She takes the crystal, feels it's weight in her palm, the pull to use it is strong. Magic itching to be used. She glances up at the team looking at her oddly and shrugs, shoving the ball into the satchel hanging at her hip. “It's like a cheat code, but there is a price for its use.”

There was always a price for dealing with faerie.

Despite the heroes crowding in on her, Darcy feels alone. Alone and guilty for losing track of time in the mortal world. There was danger to be found in the twists and turns of the labyrinth, sure but there was also hope, magic, and love if you looked. Father always said there were darker parts of the underworld that he held no sway over. Shadowy places that even the King of the Goblins feared to tread. 

A rumble in the distance and a high pitched scream echoes down the walls. The avengers shift around Darcy, Jane, and Hoggle, ready to face whatever dangers headed their way.

“Princess, you mind explaining all this?” Steve asks. There is a sharpness to his words that cuts straight to Darcy’s heart. They weren't close, it's true but he had always been polite before.

“I'll explain while we walk.”

“No, you’ll explain it now.” Steve’s jaw tenses.

“Short version then,” she says. “My father-”

“The Goblin King,” Hoggle says.

“My father met my mother when she wished away her baby brother to him. She won the Labyrinth, her brother, and my dad’s heart. A few years later she agreed to be his queen. Dragons and fairies, I came along and mom wanted me to have a normal education. High school and college like she did,” Darcy says. 

It's the truth, a shortened form of it. She was half fey after all, and the fey could not lie outright, but words were tricky things, much like creatures of the Labyrinth. There was truth and then there was truth. It was far more complicated than italics would suggest. 

“That doesn't explain why we are all here.”

“Glitter,” she says, gesturing to the traces of glitter they were all still covered in. “It’s sorta a magical byproduct.” 

“The glitter bomb was from you?” 

“Nope, but too much mischief attracts goblins, even in high tech places,” Darcy shrugs stepping through the open archway of the Labyrinth. The stone walls shine with a glittery iridescence, patches of moss swivel spying eyes towards her. “Watch your step.”

“Your moss has eyeballs,” Clint says stepping forward hand outstretched to touch the moss. 

“Look with your eyes, Hawkeye,” Natasha says slapping his hand away. Clint shuffles away muttering under his breath. 

Darcy walks along the wall, dragging her fingertips over the stone as her booted feet navigate the branches and boulders strewn across the path. Her fingers encounter air and she stumbles forward. She’s caught by Steve before she can faceplant onto the new path. A new path that looked exactly the same as the previous path with the addition of dry vines shivering in the still air. Darcy looks left and right before choosing the left path and hopping over a large thorn covered vine stretching across the ground.

The vine writhes, tendrils curling out to scrape against her boots. “Careful the thorns are probably poisonous.”

“Probably poisonous she says,” Tony snarks.

“So it's a maze. If we keep turning the same way every time we should get to the center quicker, right?” Bruce says.

“Not the Labyrinth. It has a mind of its own,” Darcy says. She keeps her eyes on the ground, hopping over a broken branch and scrambling over a glitter covered bolder. “It's sorta alive, like a coral reef. Only my father has control of it.”

“Watch your feet,” the rock rumbles from a jagged mouth cut into a shadowed face. 

“Sorry,” Darcy says stumbling back a step.

“No, you’re not,” the rock says. 

“Shouldn't you have some control? As your father’s daughter,” Steve says.

Darcy flinches. “Yeah, some, but I wasn't allowed to play in some parts of the Labyrinth. Some paths are too dangerous...or too aromatic.”

“Hey, where did the little guy go,” Jane asks, looking up from examining the rock face warily.

“Hogweed? He’ll have gone somewhere that isn't here.”

“That's real helpful there, Hermione,” Tony says. 

“Just because the shortcuts I know are closed to me, to all of us, doesn't mean they are closed to him...or to anyone else that lives within the Labyrinth’s walls. There might still be doors I can open with the right key.”

…

If there was a word for feeling lost and at home then Darcy was feeling it. The walls turn from damp and covered in sentient moss to something of a drier nature. They were resting in a small courtyard, a fountain was bubbling at the heart of it, the sound bouncing from wall to wall. The water was clear and sweet, a boon that Darcy thanked the Goddess for. 

They’d been walking for what felt like days but her pocket watch assured her that only an hour had slipped past. Not that time meant the same thing in the Goblin Kingdom as it did in the world above. Time moved of its own accord, with no relation to the outside world, it sped up or slowed down at her father’s whim. 

The light was rapidly fading from the sky. Tiny pinpricks of light appearing in the rising dark. Darcy tilts her head back, crosses her legs and wiggles her shoulders against the wall propping her up. Clint perchs on the top of the wall across from her, with Steve and Natasha at his feet. 

She can't hear what they’re saying, not unless she uses a drop of magic. Somehow that didn't seem like the right thing to do. At least not with how frustrated Cap was with the whole Labyrinth thing, not that she could blame him for worrying about his team.

“The stars are all wrong,” Jane says, sitting down on the paving stones beside Darcy. 

“That's because they’re not really stars, there is no real light in the underground only faerie light,” Darcy says. She plucks a leaf from a weed growing between the stone, rolls it between her fingers. The leaf rolls up into a small green marble. She tosses it into the air and it bursts into a pale green firework in the shape of a butterfly. The light butterfly pulses in the air and dies down to a few faded sparks. “Magic.”

“....is just science we don’t understand yet,” Jane says. 

The words spark a laugh to worm its way up from Darcy’s belly. “Not everything is about science, Jane.”

Jane opens her mouth, but shakes her head instead of randomly spouting science at Darcy. The tiny scientist reaches out and twines her fingers with Darcy’s. “You’re right. Sometimes it’s about family, the ones you share dna with, and the family you chose,” Jane says. She tilts her head towards Tony and Bruce standing in the corner scribbling something down in a moleskine with the stub of a pencil. 

“Not sure which family is crazier.”

“So what’s it like being a fairy princess?”

“What’s it like being the future princess of an alien god?”

“Life is weird.”

“The weirdest,” Darcy says. She pushes up to her feet as Tony starts writing something on the wall with a black sharpie. “Oh that’s not gonna end well.” The words have barely left her lips when the wall shudders, dry stone groaning, as an arched doorway forms. Beyond the arch lies a dark forest. 

“Don’t,” Darcy and Steve say in unison. But it’s too late Tony steps through, Bruce in his wake and the wall seals itself back up with an audible pop. Not good, Darcy thinks. It’s the last thing before the stone beneath her feet vanishes and she falls into darkness. There are no hands to guide her fall. She lands in a tangle of limbs on a pile of rags. Not a drop of light can be seen. Something cold wraps around her wrist and she can’t quite hold back the girly scream that tumbles from her mouth. She gropes her phone before the reality of the situation hits. Apple didn’t make a product that worked around magic, not the kind of magic the Labyrinth had in spades. 

With a snap of her fingers a ball of warm yellow light appears bobbing above Darcy’s head illuminating a small, windowless room heaped with rags and tarnished metal chains. There is no door. “Oh, balls.”


	84. comfort (Steve/Wanda)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from jadziabear:
> 
> Steve/Wanda: shoulder rubs

She’s numb. An aching cold filling up her insides as her thoughts spiral down into dark places. Wanda isn’t alone, but there is a numb sort of loneliness filling up her chest, fragments of it spiraling out to her limbs like spider silk. 

“You okay, kid?” Steve says, voice soft and careful, like he’s talking to a scared animal. Perhaps she was just that. 

“Should I ask the same of you, Captain?” Wanda asks tilting her head back to look up at Steve. She doesn’t quite meet his eyes, focusing instead on the beauty marks on his throat. She uncurls her hands, not sure when they became fists. She considers telling him to leave, he does not need to care for her as if she is a bird with a broken wing. She could push him away with her mind, her power that flares red behind her eyes. 

“Can I sit?”

“We are his highness’s guests. You may sit wherever you please,” She says, wincing a little at the formality of her own words. 

Steve huffs out a puff of air and lowers himself to sit beside her. It is a controlled collapse, the force of his will ebbing away until he sits beside her. They match in a way, both empty husks. Hollow and alone. Tears prick at her eyes, and she turns her head to brush them away. She was meant to be the strong one. 

“Hey,” Steve says reaching over to lay his hand, warm and rough on the bare skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t say that everything will be okay, they both know that that was a lie. But his touch is warm and soothing, his hand sweeping under the heavy fall of her hair to rub circles into her other shoulder. 

The witch lets herself be comforted by the touch of a man that had lost as much as she had. A pang of guilt stabs at her heart and she looks up into his face. She meets the kind blue eyes that held such anger and sorrow. A watery laugh bubbles up from her gut, but she swallows it down. “Thank you,” she says. 

“Don’t,” Steve says, voice thick with emotion. His fingers press harder into her skin, easing the knot between her shoulders. She nods her head, and closes her eyes, concentrating on the warm points of his fingers working the knots from her shoulders. Later they will talk. Now is not the time for words, only the simplicity of touch.   



	85. salted caramel popcorn (Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve reacts to a crying Darcy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from msjarvis:
> 
> Steve/Darcy: reacting to the other one crying.

She’s cleaning tear stains from her glasses in the kitchen sink. Fat tears roll down her neck to soak into the hem of her t-shirt. The tee was faded, small holes dotted here and there. Darcy swipes the back of her hand over her cheeks and lets out a watery laugh. **  
**

“Darcy?”

“Shit,” Darcy spits out dropping her glasses into a dirty mug in the bottom of the stainless steel sink. “What the hell, Steve.”

“You okay?” He asks voice is a soothing rumble. The tips of his fingers touch her arm just above the elbow.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Darcy says, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. She was okay, just not okay okay. There was a difference, not that she was going to say exactly what the difference was. “Wanda and I were watching old movies, Fried Green Tomatoes gets me every time.”

His face is a blur without her glasses perched on her nose. She squints her eyes, but it makes no difference, his face is a blob. Darcy grimaces and fishes her glasses out of the cup, and begins washing them all over again.

“You’re sure.”

His fingertips are still on Darcy’s arm, warm pressure points that turn Darcy’s insides to mush. They barely knew each other, she’d only been at the compound six months as Selvig’s assistant/babysitter, and only recently started hanging out with Wanda.

Her friendship with the witch brought her over from the science building and into the Avengers personal quarters. She couldn’t say she and Steve were friends, though she was pleased beyond measure that she’s gotten him to laugh once or twice. Yet here he was hovering beside her, touching her arm, ready to comfort her of all people. What a jerk. “Honest, I’m fine and dandy.” And if maybe a few of those tears were from missing her best friend and former boss, well, that was her secret to keep.

She wipes a wet hand over her face and shuts the water off. “Steel Magnolias is up next if you wanna grab yourself some tissue, but we’re not sharing the Phish Food or the salted caramel popcorn.” Darcy dries her glasses on the bottom of her tee and dries her face with the same slightly damp corner.

The frames are still warm from the hot water as she slides them up her nose. Steve’s face comes into sharp focus and Darcy can’t help the warmth that settles in her belly as the small smile on Steve’s pretty face.

“Oh wait, don’t you have a date with that Cheryl chick? She’s a total badass,” Darcy says mock punching Steve in the shoulder. Which was probably totally inappropriate, but Darcy really didn’t give two figs about propriety. Darcy’s only met Agent Cheryl once, when she and Jane had been interrogated by SHIELD after the whole London Invasion of the Elves, but the woman had perfect hair and the same badass vibe that Maria Hill had in spades.

“Sharon, yeah, and no we’re not dating.”

“Why not? She’s hot and can kick your ass.”

“Turns out she’s Peggy’s granddaughter,” Steve says, voice turning bitter around the edges.

“Oh, um,” Darcy says failing to keep her face neutral. “That’s…not good.”

“Ya think?” Steve says. He crosses his arms over his chest leaning back against the counter.

“Sorry, dude.”

“S'okay, we’re learning to be friends, and I’m just not…” Steve shrugs and drops his gaze the floor.

“She’s going out with Sam tonight.”

“Oh, ouch. Look I’m no expert, but if you want my advice.”

“Not, really-”

“My last almost-boyfriend was a HYDRA mole. For Thor’s sake can you believe I kissed that asshat? Anyway, the life we live is damn weird, my best friend is banging a literal god when she isn’t trying to crack open the universe like an eggshell. I’m pretty sure you’ll find someone when you want to let them in,” Darcy says grabbing two spoons from a drawer. She closes the drawer with her hip and makes her way to the freezer to dig around for wherever Sam hid the ice cream.

“If you say so,” Steve says.

“I do,” Darcy says with a nod. “Just keep being pretty and do your thing.” She transfers the carton of ice cream to the same hand as the spoons and pats his cheek. She hums at the soft scratch of his beard against her palm. “Offer’s still open if you wanna join in on Steel Magnolias.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Suit yourself, blondie bear,” Darcy says. She winks and turns on her stocking foot. She never sees the way Steve watches the sway of her hips as she disappears down the hall.


	86. blanket fort (Bucky/Sam)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt hxans:
> 
> Sam/Bucky: cuddling in a blanket fort.
> 
> This turned out to be a very short continuation of [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655545/chapters/7334255). I am sorry it’s so short but my brain is refusing to cough up any more words right now. 

“What are you doing?” Sam hisses elbowing Bucky in the gut.

“I WAS trying to sleep. Bears hibernate,” Bucky grumbles rubbing his stomach. The movement causes his hair to fall over his face, a rough braid clipped with a bright pink plastic bow nearly blinds him. He huffs and pushes his hair back with a glitter-streaked hand.

“No, man, no. I’m not having you buzz saw in my ear. I’m going.”

“Can’t. You promised the rugrats. Sides you’re the troll that’s been turned into stone by the sun.”

“I knew it. I knew shouldn’t have let you read them the hobbit.”

“Shut it,” Bucky grumbles rolling over so he’s curled into Sam’s body. He closes his eyes breathing in the scent of whatever the fuck was in the glittery crap all over Sam and himself, and the chemical smell of the purple nail polish covering his human hand and swirled over the metal one. He’s covered in paint, makeup and glitter and really couldn’t be happier in the moment, not with Sam by his side and Steve off with his heavily pregnant wife. Things were better than they had been in a long while.

“Why do you get to be the bear anyway?” Sam whines.

“My sparkling personality. Quit movin’, asshole,” Bucky grumbles.

“I hate you,” Sam says.

“I know,” Bucky smiles, draping his flesh arm over Sam’s waist, fingers scratching the soft cotton of Sam’s shirt. He closes his eyes and lets Sam’s warmth seep into him, listens to the sound of Sam’s breathing and the tv droning on in the background with whatever Disney fest Friday had pulled up for the twins to watch.

Bucky’s nearly asleep when Sam’s hand slides over his arm and curls around his wrist in a loose fist. Sam turns his head and brushes his lips over Bucky’s forehead. Bucky’s mouth twitches up into a sleepy smile, a spark of warmth rattling around his ribcage.   



	87. when the last eagle flies (Darcy/Steve/Wanda- cuddles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve pines, and gets cuddles from the girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a five sentence fic for Miin, it turned out a little longer than that. Poor Steeb. 
> 
> It's not incredibly shippy, just an intimate moment between people who trust each other and all deserve a hug.

The door to Wanda’s room was open. It was almost always open, and that little bit of normal helped smooth out the knot of worry tightening in his gut. “Hey, Wanda,” Steve says, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. “Do you…oh.” The carefully prepared words in his head falter on his tongue. Wanda isn’t alone.

Steve’s jaw goes slack and his brain rebels against the scene painted before him. Wanda is sitting wrapped up in the covers, a soft smile on her lips, head leaning on Darcy’s shoulder. Both girls are watching something on the television, a cartoon of some sort with a butterfly and a horse. 

They look comfortable, intimate, and Steve’s heart cracks, a spike of jealousy settling in his guts. He had no right to be jealous, no right to want as much as he did. Darcy looks up from the tv and waves at him with a small ball of yarn in her hand. His eyes dip down to the generous bit of cleavage on display and Steve clenches his fist tighter, dropping his eyes to one of the bean bags decorating the room. 

He felt like a heel for looking, for wanting more than he could ever have. He felt worse for being sweet on both girls. As much as he told himself to treat Wanda like a kid, the advice never touched his heart. She was beautiful and powerful, and she woke something up inside of him, that primitive bit of his brain that wanted to protect her, wrap himself around her and hold on tight. 

The last few months Natasha’s been needling him to ask Darcy out. He’d done his best to drag his heels about it, but for once Nat’s matchmaking had struck a cord. Darcy worked in the lab, keeping Dr Selvig in order and mostly dressed. She’d been closed off at first, wrapped up in layers of sass. He still wasn’t sure if she forgot people’s names on purpose or it was a deliberate move to distance herself from idiot. He was secretly a little smug that she almost always called him Steve, unless she was angry. He wasn’t a good enough man to not appreciate the fury that could dance in Darcy’s eyes, her cheeks flushed red, and her lips...perhaps it was best he didn’t follow that train of thought while standing so close to Wanda. 

“Hey,” Wanda says. The smile on her pink lips turns bright and she sits up, waving her hand at him. “Come watch with us.”

“No..I mean, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Nonsense. We don't mind, do we, Darcy?” Wanda asks. 

“Nope, come watch the movie with us,” Darcy smiles. She pats the bed beside her and somehow Steve’s feet are moving without his telling them what to do. He ends up wedged between Wanda and Darcy, with the blankets thrown over all three. He’s very careful not to let his thoughts slip down dangerous paths, and keeps a close eye on Wanda’s ring covered fingers. 

“Dude, move your arm,” Darcy says, curling her hand over his wrist. 

“Sorry, I--”

“Shh, movie,” Wanda murmurs. She tucks herself into Steve’s side and he automatically wraps his arm around her to keep her close. Darcy’s eyes flick between the skein red yarn she is winding into a ball and the movie, her arm brushes his and Steve feels himself heating up at being in the middle of bed with two beautiful women. Two women that were stepping out together, and now he was in the middle of them. 

Steve tries to make himself smaller, to not feel Wanda’s body pressing into his side, arm looping over his belly. He covers Wanda’s hand with his own, unsure if it’s to hold her close or stop his own thoughts from slowly slipping into the gutter. It’s not an easy task, he wasn’t the prude Natasha and Tony seemed to think he was, the USO tour had been an education and what he didn’t learn at the hands of the girls there he figured out with Peggy in the few quiet moments they had together in the middle of the war. 

The movie catches his attention, he had a soft spot for animation, after all, and soon his body relaxes back into the cushion. He lets the story flood his mind with imagery, making note here and there to sketch his own version of Amalthea and Molly Grue. Steve’s heartbeat and breathing slowly match up with Wanda and Darcy’s. A warmth settles in his chest, settles the butterflies that swirl in his belly. 

Somewhere along the way his eyes well, tears catching in his eyelashes. His breath catches in his throat, heart clenching tight in his chest. “It’s okay, this gets me everytime too,” Darcy whispers into his ear. Her voice is wet with tears and she nuzzles his shoulder, breasts pressing into his arm. Wanda laces her fingers with his, rings biting into his flesh. The ball of yarn Darcy was winding rolls off the bed. Darcy covers his and Wanda’s hands with her own as the credits begin to roll. He should go. Leave them alone. Tell them something. Steve holds his tongue and stays.


	88. Firefly (Steve/Wanda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny Firefly AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jadziabear prompted Steve/Wanda & finding a cat for a five sentence fic meme. This is where my brain went. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who contributed to read and comment on my stories, I appreciate it so much. ❤️❤️❤️

“Ain’t no place for that gorram thing on my ship, Wanda,” Steve says, shoving his hair back from his face. They’re hiding in the belly of a Hammer class cruiser, picked clean long ago and left to rust on the edge of the city. 

“Captain,” Wanda says, holding her hands cradled to her breast. A small ball of orange fluff vibrating in her hand. 

“No,” Steve says. His lips twitch at the sorrowful look on Wanda’s face and the way she carefully feeds the little thing pieces of a protein bar. The chit, and her brother had been nothing but trouble since Doc Cho brought them onboard his ship. He still blamed Buck for the whole business, drumming up custom with a Core learned doctor in need of transport to the Rim planets. A Core doctor carrying a secret or two Captain Rogers didn’t want, even if he might have a mighty need for them. 

Buck and Steve had been friends since childhood, growing up in the same backwater world, went to war together against the Alliance, until Buck up and disappeared. It had been two years since his friend showed up on the Avenger’s with a shiny new synth arm and papers certifying him as a Companion. Somehow in those two years the verse shifted and Steve had a crew that were perilously close to being family.

“Back on Sokovia cats are considered good luck on ships. Some say they were gods back on Earth That Was.”

“Sorry, kid, but there’s rules,” he says. His jaw twitches and he swings his gaze back to Wanda, the fog of his thoughts clearing at the sound of the Avenger’s thrusters as she set down. “Come on, Wanda, ride’s here. We got work to do.” Steve nods to the stack of crates waiting to be shipped to planets over.

“Who makes these rules?” Wanda asks lifting the kitten up to nuzzle her nose in it’s pumpkin colored fur. 

“Me, I’m the Captain,” Steve says, jerking his thumb towards his chest. “I make the rules.”

“You broke them for me and my brother.”

“Beside the point, kid.”

“I could change your mind,” Wanda says. She wiggles her fingers, silver rings glinting in the light of the moons streaming through a hole in the hull. The kitten bats at her fingers. 

“None of that witchy stuff now.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Wanda says, a sly smile lighting up her eyes. 

Steve’s jaw drops, brain freezing up for a span of seconds, long enough for Wanda to slip into the little bubble of space he’d carved out for himself. “We can’t, your brother-”

“Is not my keeper. I control my destiny, not Pietro, not the Alliance. I choose.” She rocks up on her toes, and plants a kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Besides, my brother is far too busy, trying to charm his way into your mechanic overalls than to waste time watching over me.”

“Wanda, please,” Steve says.

“Shhh,” Wanda says. She pats his cheek, tucks the kitten into the pocket of Steve’s duster. The duster she was wearing, as he may be an outlaw but chivalry was still something he toyed with having. “His name’s Mal, and he wants to go out into the black.”


	89. the envelope (Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy gives Steve an envelope with his name on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit of tooth rotting fluff. I've had some black days and doing things has not been something I've done very well at, so I ignored updating EHM with some some the short ficlets I've written and posted on tumblr. But I'm doing it now, so there is that? Mostly in hopes that I can make someone smile with the few words I've written that might have been missed if you aren't on tumblr.

“Open this and then I promise you can go to bed for a week straight,” Darcy says handing Steve a cream envelope. The top left corner is bent and Steve’s name is written across the front in block print.

“Can it wait?” Steve asks. He rubs a hand over his face, ragged nails scratching at the beard growing over the lower half of his face. He’d been out with Bucky and Sam on a mission that had gone a month too long. It felt like longer and all he wanted to do was curl up in bed with his girl.

“No it can’t,” she says. Darcy’s hands hover over Steve’s ready to snatch the envelope back and open it herself. He withdraws a pocketknife out of his jeans and pulls the blade out with his thumbnail. The blade cuts cleanly through the envelope, and Steve folds away the knife and takes the card out.

 _“Happy Father’s Day… you're not old, you’re well done,”_ Steve reads out. The card has a picture of a cartoon burger with googly eyes and pink cheeks. “It's not Father's Day.”

"I know...just open the card."

"Sharon doesn't do cards,” Steve says. Sharon had told him so on several occasions when Steve had been gathered into the fold of the Carter-Sousa clan.

It had taken a long time for Steve to be comfortable with Peggy’s family and there was still guilt burrowed deep in his gut that Peggy had been pregnant with his child when he went into the ice. His relationship with his daughter Elizabeth was still on rocky ground but he got along well with Sharon, most of the time.

"Stop being an asshat and read the damn card,” Darcy orders. She crosses her arms under her breasts and juts her chin at the card.

Steve snorts, considers digging his heels in. He never was one for following orders, unless he was in bed. Even then he was more likely to give them. If he wasn’t swaying on his feet he’d consider doing more than sleep once he gets Darcy into his bed. “Maybe we should head to…”

Taped inside with patriotically themed glitter tape is a grainy black and white photo. A sonogram. Darcy's name printed on the corner of the print. Steve blinks slowly, a jolt of adrenaline running down his spine as his brain fits together the pieces of the puzzle Darcy’s handed him.

"Darce...is this...?" he asks, words tumbling from dry lips.

"So you know when you went off on the mission before we could talk?" Darcy says. Her voice is shaky, and her arms slip down from below her chest to protectively cover her abdomen.

"Yeah,” he says, feeling  
light-headed and somewhere between giddy and terrified.

 

"This is what we were gonna talk about. I'm pregnant. I'd say we are, but that’s bullshit. You just supplied the swimmers and…”

Steve pulls her into his arms, kissing the words from her lips. Darcy curls into him, nails digging into the jersey fabric of his henley. They kiss until Darcy pulls his hand up under the hem of her sweater dress to the slight swell of her abdomen. “A baby.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, swiping tears away with her free hand. “Damn hormones.”

“Our baby,” Steve whispers, brushing his thumb over Darcy’s warm skin.

“Yeah.”

“Love you."

“I know. Love you too.”


	90. GBBO (Darcy, Wanda, Pietro & Steve. Gen fic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for GBBO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because baking. GBBO is really the best. ❤️ If you don't watch The Great British Bake Off you really should give it a go.

“Not to break up this Dawson’s Creek moment, but it’s time, Wanda,’ Darcy says, standing in the doorway, thumbs a blur over her phone. “Two minutes and counting.”

“My brother?” Wanda asks. She rolls up to her feet, ringed fingers smoothing down her skirt. 

“Readying the supplies,” Darcy nods.

“Is that wise?”

“Probably not.”

“What’s going on?” Steve says. He gaze bounces between the women, a line of worry forming between his brows.

“GBBO,” Darcy and Wanda say in unison. Matching grins light up their faces. 

Steve blinks slowly, mouth opening and closing. He shakes his head and says, “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

“Sure you do. Curiosity and all that. It’s something everyone should experience, Steve,” Darcy says. She pushes her glasses up the slope of her nose, stuffs her phone in the pocket of her oversized hoodie. The hoodie is grey with small yellow lightning bolts scattered across it with an iron-on mjolnir patch with pink spotted cheeks and black button eyes. 

“Come on, Steve,” Wanda says, tugging the sleeve of Steve’s shirt. “It will be fun.”

“Why does that make me feel uneasy?” Steve asks, more to himself than anyone else. He follows the women anyway, out into the communal space. 

The tv is on and Pietro is sprawled across one of the couches a box of cookies in hand. “It’s starting,” Pietro says cheeks bulging, crumbs dotting his black henley.

“Gross, dude,” Darcy says, staking out a space in the overstuffed armchair beside the couch. The chair is nearest to a plate of cupcakes covered in mountains of buttercream frosting and a yellow box of Tunnock’s Tea Cake Darcy dare not touch. The tea cakes were Wanda’s favorite, along with some sort of traditional Sokovian cookies that tasted like fruitcake made with a dash of old lady perfume after being dug up from a centuries old grave.

_“Welcome to week two in the Bake Off tent…”_


	91. unbreakable-ish (Pietro & Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was all dresupi's fault.

“I’m here about the internship. Mr Barton sent me,” Pietro says in most professional voice he can muster. The smile plastered on his face is a touch too wide. Excess energy is spiking through his body, muscles twitching with the need to run, and run. “Pietro Maximoff.”

“Cute accent.”

“Thank you?”

“Darcy Lewis. Ms Lewis to you. If..if you get the job I’ll basically be your demigod,” the woman says. Her eyes are a bright blue behind the lenses of her smudged glasses. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, wild curls escaping. “First question: are you normal?”

“I am the normalest normal person,” he says. “Normal in every way.”

“Close enough. Coffee?”

“Dark. Tea, sugar, spam pudding?” Pietro guesses. “Is this not a word game? I’m much better at word games than my sister.” His chest puff out with pride. He was always the quickest.

“Whatever, I need coffee,” she says grabbing a bag from the cluttered desk. “Janey, I’m taking the new applicant for the internship for coffee.”

There’s a muffled response from the depths of the lab, a grease covered hand stretching up from the bulk of a large metal monstrosity. He’s pushed out of the lab and finds himself trailing after Ms Lewis down into the lobby and across the street to the Starbucks on the corner. 

“So you have a sister,” Darcy says while they wait on their drinks. 

“My twin. I’m the older one.My sister and I wereinnacult,” Pietro say. The words rush together and his whole body twitches with adrenaline. 

He drops his gaze to focus on the large golden coin in his hand. A chocolate coin and it wasn’t even Hammermas  
.   
“You what,” Darcy says, half paying attention as she grabs their drinks. An iced mocha for her and a vanilla frappachino (with extra whip cream) for Pietro. 

“Nothing,” he says bouncing on his toes. “Nothing at all. Darcy shoves the drink in his hand and drags him over to an empty table.

“Oh my god, you were right, this is totally like a milkshake,” Pietro says. “It should have a cherry though, we used to have cherries once a year, they were pickled in vinegar. They weren’t very nice. But that was all we had in Sokovia.”

“Sokovia, like the Mole People?” 

“Mmm, I don’t know what you are talking about. This is a really good milkshake,” he says.”


	92. what the duff (Darcy/Johnny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duff AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to write more of this but my brain has really been kicking my ass the last few months. I'm okay, the sort of okay where you are stuck on survival mode and bobbing along but never quite fully above the waves of depression. Anyway, heeeere's Johnny....and Darcy too.

“You’re their DUFF, D.”

“The what now?”

“Designated Ugly Fat Friend,” Johnny replies.

“Did you just call me ugly, Storm?” Darcy asks balling her hands into fists. She hated him, and really knew better than to talk to Johnny Storm about anything. Once upon a time they had been friends, baked mud pies, shared a bathtub as toddlers, played pranks on Johnny’s older sister when she was meant to be babysitting them. Somewhere along the way, around junior high, they peeled off in different directions. As much as she hated the high school cliches Darcy was proud of her space in the nerd-o-sphere, while Johnny, the man-whore next door, was nickleback for sportsball team. 

“Wait, wait…it’s not as bad as it sounds. It just means you’re the less popular, more approachable friend, the one everyone goes to to asks what Jane, Helen, and Betty are doing like it’s the most important thing in the world. What with the messy hair, glasses, fugly ass thrift store sweaters, and those weird t-shirts that don’t make any sense.”

“I love this sweater. Jane gave me this sweater, and my t-shirts are classic.”

“Jane the brain, the hot brunette dating the foreign exchange dude everyone wants to bang.”

“Everyone wants to bang Thor or Jane?”

Johnny scratches the back of his head, and shrugs, “Both, probably.”

“Ugh, you’re such an effing pig, Storm,” Darcy says. She rolls her eyes, hitches her backpack up on her shoulder. 

“I take back ‘approachable’,” Johnny says flashing a wide grin. The douche. 

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Johnny says. He wraps his arm around Darcy’s shoulder, leaning his head against hers.

“Oh my god, did you bath in a vat of Axe? I’m gonna hurl,” she says, jabbing her elbow into his side. Johnny steps back rubbing his side, mouth twitching between a grin and a grimace of pain.


	93. the Lake District (Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of sleeplessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt of sharing a bed. Best. Trope. Ever. I will never grow tired of reading or writing it.

The Lake District

They were holed up in a cottage in the middle of what felt like nowhere, but was really a stone cottage with foot thick walls, tucked away on a small corner of small dairy farm. 

No wifi, no netflix, and no decent coffee. No matter what Jane said, the vaguely brown liquid the village tea shop served was not, in fact, coffee. Darcy was convinced it was some cursed potion made from discarded tea leaves and the blood of lost tourists. 

It was the perfect place for Jane to observe the night sky, untouched by city lights, and write the three articles that she’d been avoiding. It was also a good place for Darcy to catch up on reading, and work on that whole meditation thing that was meant to calm down her far too active brain. 

The cottage was owned by Jane’s late father and was filled to the brim with books, and ancient astronomy equipment. Darcy was staying in a room the size of a postage stamp, with glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling, jars filled with pottery shards and water smoothed stones, and curtains with the smiling face of Postman Pat giving her the evil eye. 

Darcy’s heart was racing in her chest, a thread of anxiety looping around her throat pulling tighter and tighter. The thoughts rattling around in her head twined with memories from Greenwich of douchebag elves and Hydra moles.

“Shut up,” she mutters to herself, throwing back the duvet and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Darcy feels around with her toes until she finds her slippers and shoves her feet into them. Her thoughts circle around each other, one image bleeding into the next until all she can hear is the noise in her head. With a groan she drags a hoodie on, breathes in it’s slightly stale scent, and leaving her glasses behind she finds her way downstairs into the kitchen. 

Darcy fills the electric kettle with fresh water, , drops it down on the base and flicks the switch. Her throat still feels tight, and she rubs at it absently while rummaging for a mug and a tea bag. 

The small lamp is on in the lounge, and Darcy blinks, lost in the fog of her mind she forgot that the cottage had also become a place for internationally wanted hero to sulk and bro about with Darcy’s favorite alien (sorry, Michael, Max, Spock, and Mork). 

“Everything okay, Darcy?” Steve asks from the sofa bed. 

Darcy hesitates to answer, squinting her eyes at the blob that is Steve rogers curled up under a Laura Ashley duvet set. “I’m fine, left my glasses upstairs,” she says, voice cracking the tiniest bit. With a shrug turning to pour hot water into her mug and poke at the tea bag floating in it. “Couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d make some tea. Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep either. Thought I’d do a bit of reading,” Steve says. He lifts a book up from his lap, careful not to lose the page. 

“Cool, cool. You want a cup? I can put the kettle back on,” she asks, gesturing with the spoon. 

“M’fine,” he rumbles. 

“‘Kay,” Darcy murmurs. She bends down to reach into the fridge. “Damn it, there’s no milk left. We’re on a fucking farm with cows and there is no milk left,” she says, breath hitching on half a sob. She throws the spoon in the sink and abandons the tea to stew until it’s cold and black and undrinkable. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“You sure you’re okay, Darcy?” Steve asks, sitting up straighter in the bed.

Darcy’s mouth drops open, words fitting together that never quite reach the tip of her tongue. “No, not really. Just…just bad thoughts, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” he says softly.

She pushes her fingers into her neck, trying and failing to massage the lump in in throat away. “Do you mind if I sit with you for a bit? I don’t want to go back up.” 

“Sure,” Steve says. He peels back the duvet on the other side and Darcy winds her way past the table and chairs to climb up beside him. The sofa bed creaks as she climbs up, kicking her slippers off to dive under the duvet. Her brain points out the fact that she neglected to put on pants when she came downstairs, but aside from the slight blush that warms her cheeks she’s too cold and anxious over thoughts she cannot change to be worried about reality. 

It’s weird. Weird and nice sharing the duvet with Steve. He doesn’t encroach on her side of the bed even though all of it is technically his, he does ask if she has enough room, and somehow he ends up curling his hand around hers and giving her a reassuring squeeze. Darcy tries and fails to read one of the paperbacks stacked on the table behind the couch back, but the page dances and blurs before her eyes and her focus wanders off to examine the pink flowers and green leaves decorating the faded duvet. 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, breathing in the mingled scent of fabric softener and Steve’s aftershave on the pillows. There’s a warm weight on her back, that moves when she stretches out. 

Steve slides his hand up along her spine, his body freezing the moment both of them are awake enough to realise how close they are. “Sorry,” he mumbles slipping his hand down and to the side.

“S’okay,” she says opening her eyes and blinking away the sleep. Steve’s face is only a few inches away. His hair is plastered against his forehead, and a pillow crease lines his left cheek. It’s oddly charming, and a smile works it’s way over Darcy’s lips. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay, Darcy, it was nice,” Steve says. 

There are shadows in his eyes, a history that couldn’t be found in any book, and it squeezes her heart. He reaches up to push a wild lock of her hair out of her eyes. His hand drops down to the small space between them. Darcy rolls her lip between her teeth, and reaches out to curl her hand over his. It feels more intimate than any kiss with a traitor could be. Darcy burrows her face into the pillow hoping the cotton will cool the heat warming her face. 

“You feelin’ better?”

“House rule number three,” Darcy mumbles into the pillow. “No talkie before coffee.”

….  
Sorry this took forever, but at least it’s a bit longer than half a dozen sentences?


	94. Parker (Darcy & Tony)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a musing than a ficlet, but I wrote dialogue and I'd rather not lose it. This is all Drake's fault as he is the only one who ever ventures into my ask with random and often fascinating anon prompts.

Darcy had always been smart, but not always driven, not in the way Jane was. She went to college at seventeen, bounced around aimlessly for two years before deciding on PolySci.Two days later she found the add for an internship offering the chance to drive to the South West and look at stars. She jumped at the chance and never looked back. Though whether or not that was the best possible choice in life was anyone’s guess. 

She always knew she was adopted, her parents were very open about the fact that they chose her as the child of their hearts if not their bodies. She had always been curious about her birth parents but she hadn’t felt ready when she came of age, and then running around after Jane and trying to keep them both sane and, you know, alive, left very little room to search for her own history. 

Until, six months after the Avengers hand in their BFF necklaces, Tony Stark shows up at Darcy’s hotel room. She’s in the middle of rewriting part of Jane’s speech for the dinner Jane was speaking at the next day.

“Is this where you tell me you’re my father and its time for me to join the dark side? Where are the cookies?”  


“Not me, no, but I can buy a bakery if you want, Darcy Parker.”  


“I think you’ve got the wrong Darcy, Mr. Stark.”  


“No, I’ve got the right Darcy Parker, daughter of Ben and May Parker, adopted daughter of Elizabeth and David Lewis.”  


“How?”  


“I’m me,” Tony says, frowning at Darcy’s taped together laptop. “Huh, must run in the family…So, wanna go meet your mom, kiddo?”  



	95. the vegetable patch (Darcy/Pietro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's in the veg patch pulling weeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dresupi prompted Darcy/Pietro- enemies to friends to lovers. I never got quite as far as lovers, but maybe one day I will get there.

When Darcy was six her mom left her on aunt Laura’s doorstep with the promise of returning in a few days. That day never came. She spent the first few years on military bases, until the day Clint and Laura brought her to the farm that was going to be their new home. A safe place, unknown to all but Uncle Nick. Farming did not come easily to Darcy, even as a child she had no love for early mornings, but the one thing she did love was getting her hands dirty helping Laura with the vegetable patch.

Darcy’s hands are stained green from tying up the tomato plants heavy with ripening fruit. Her hair is a held up in a loose knot, damp curls trailing from temple and neck. There are crescents of black dirt beneath her blunt nails and sweat dripping from her brow and between her breasts. 

Jane would never recognise her from the awkward iPod obsessed nineteen year old that took an internship for a few college credits. She couldn’t be happier or more at peace with her knees in the dirt, the sun warming her face and bare shoulders. 

“Laura said you might want some help,” Pietro says.

Darcy startles, her hand instinctively clutching at the pocket knife she’d been using to cut the twine for the tomato stakes. “Holy shit, Speedy.” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Pietro says, running a hand over his short cropped hair. When he’d first arrived at the farm his hair hand been long, and rather fluffy, like a sheep ready to be sheared. His skin had been nearly as white as the bleached strands of his hair. There were scars hidden beneath his t-shirt. Scars that proved his worth as a hero. Scars that meant he saved the only father figure Darcy really had. Scars that Darcy wanted to run her hands over, and that was why she held onto the kernel of hate. 

“Liar,” she says. Darcy stands up, wiping her hands on her jeans. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins and she takes a steadying breath. 

It was only adrenaline. It had nothing to do with the way his blue eyes spark with mischief, the curve of smug smile on his face, or the twitch of muscle beneath the blue t-shirt painted over his skin. Nope, nothing at all. Ugh, jerk.

She hated him. She hated his smug face, his thick accent, that made her hindbrain take notice as much as the way he ran around the farm in tight fitting workout gear. Hated the way Pietro wormed his way into the Barton clan while she was away at Jane’s side, chasing falling stars and unstitching the universe. 

He was just another stray that Barton picked up, like the cats in the barn that liked to curl up on the beds on cold winter nights, like Natasha and herself. He shouldn't be able to get under her skin the way he does with a casual shrug and a flash of white teeth. He was so damn confident in a way that Darcy only ever pretended to be, and that he made her angry in the first place. 

“So you want...my help?” Pietro asks. His pectoral muscles twitch in some sort of morse code. 

Darcy wrinkles her nose, head tilting to the side. “Pick enough ripe tomatoes for salad and I finish propping this one up,” Darcy orders. “Don't rush!”

“As you wish,” he says, covering his heart with a closed fist and bowing. 

“Asshat,” Darcy snorts, shaking her head. A smile pulls at her lips. 

“Is that a smile,” Pietro says voice nearly a purr.

“Nope,” Darcy says. 

Smug bastard.

Pietro’s answering smile is full and wicked. Their eyes meet, his blue eyes flash with thoughts gone too quick for Darcy to catch. The moment draws out, slow and elastic, and almost painful. Her belly flips, and her pulse speeds up. 

“Now, who is the liar?” Pietro asks. His words break the tension between them. Laughter bubbles up from her belly and spills between her lips. Laughter that almost obscures the tendril of warmth curling in her chest, the stain of red rising in her cheeks. 

…

"Are you annoyed because it's our place to thrift or because he looks hot?" Laura says. She looks up from stroking Nathaniel's cheek as the baby nurses. 

"No," Darcy says. She can't help the way her eyes dart over to Pietro and Clint in the kitchen. The boys are cleaning the kitchen up after lunch. Pietro is drying and putting away the stack of dishes. His movements are slow for once as he concentrates on whatever Clint is babbling on about. 

The vintage Pink Floyd t-shirt stretched across his chest is rucked up at the side revealing a slice of taunt skin and a tiny strip of hair disappearing beneath low slung jeans. It's the silver converse covering his stupid feet that pushes a button more than anything else. Darcy would have killed for those shoes when she was twelve and thought all things shiny and silver were awesome, until she turned thirteen and turned into a mini goth. Clint still brought that up as many times as he could. Clint may not be her bio dad but he was well versed in parenting her and throwing out dad jokes long before Laura and he decided to spawn.

"I just don't see why he has to live with us. Couldn't Clint get custody of Wanda? She's the better twin. She's got style. Sorta early 80s Madonna, it would be like a sleepover. Staying up late talking about boys."

"You mean how hot you think her brother is?"

"Ugh, as if."

"Whatever you say, Cher-bear," Laura says. She disentangles the sleepy baby from her breast with a practiced ease, swapping sides. "Ooh, I think it's time we watched Clueless again."


	96. Not the hawkeye you're looking for (Darcy, with a hint of Steve/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kidnapping. It's a thing.

“Look, guys, I am not Kate Bishop,” Darcy says, not for the first time in the last two hours. She’s tied to a chair, hands bound to the arms, a loop of rope around her waist knotted to the back of the chair. The chair groans worryingly with each move she makes. 

“You are da hawggirl in purple,” nods kidnapper number one in a heavy accent. Russian maybe, like somebody put a Craig’s List ad for henchmen; bad accents, clothing from 1987, an over abundance of BO, and the vague scent of cabbages a must. 

Kidnapper number two, was at the far end of the room talking on the phone while swatting at invisible flies. 

“I’m in purple, yeah, but I’m not either of the Hawkeyes. Do these hands look like I pluck arrows,” she asks, wiggling her fingers as proof. Her hands are callous free, but the metallic purple nail polish was probably not helping her case. The nail polish and the purple v-neck t-shirt and boots probably weren’t helping her case. She was never taking Clint’s advice over fashion again, and she really needed to move out of his damn building. “Look, Igor.”

“Ivan-”

God, what morons these two were. She’d already managed to activate the hidden tracking function on the large silver ring on her middle finger, and with a little luck she wouldn’t need to do anything with the slim blade in her right boot. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said, Igor, I have a date tonight, and he’s gonna be pissed. This is our third date, if you know what I mean,” Darcy says. 

Igor nods his shiny bald head. 

Darcy bites the tip of her tongue, afraid to let her mouth run. She tended to get into trouble that way. Not that she wasn’t already in trouble. So much trouble.

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know I'm [typhoidmeri](http://typhoidmeri.tumblr.com) over on tumblr. Pop by and say hi sometimes. Darcyland is a friendly place.


End file.
